Chuck versus The World
by JoeltotheD
Summary: Chuck has broken his cover in order to free Sarah from Ring captivity, and they are now on the run. But with the Intersect not working, Sarah's nightmares, and a past that will come to haunt them both, how long can they stay that way? Ch17 is now up.
1. Sleepdriving

_Okay, so this is only the second multi-chapter fic I have written. The first being __**Rough Night, Rough Morning**__. I have not abandoned __**Rough Night,**__** Rough**__** Morning**__ and will be writing the final chapter to that soon (should be up sometime over the weekend), but I thought this story up on the tube today and wanted to get penning it. It is my first entirely AU story. But I'm__ planning on having lots of can__on references__. This may seem like a short and slow chapter, but please bare with it. Anyway, read, review and enjoy. I don't own Chuck, so please don't sue me._

**Chapter 1**

**Sleepdriving**

**October 1st, 2007**

**Baja California, Mexico**

**22:17 PST**

The man tied to the chair wasn't sure how long he'd been there. Wherever there was. It felt like hours, but he couldn't be sure. The single bulb that hung high above his head was so bright it obscured any daylight that could've entered the room, making the perception of time hard to tell. There was also the bag over his head. He wasn't even sure what the room looked like – whether there were any windows in it or not. He'd had the bag over his head when he'd been carried in and bound to the chair.

But regardless of what the room looked like, he knew one thing. It was hot. Not just hot, it was humid. And he was neither a fan of heat or humidity. Then again, he guessed that few people would be a fan of this level of heat and humidity; though that was probably the point. He had tried not to struggle against the ropes that bound his wrists against the arms of wooden chair, but no matter how much he relaxed he couldn't seem to stop them cutting into his skin.

Footsteps approached from the outside of the room and the sound of rusty metal grinding echoed through the air as keys were turned in the lock of the door. The lock retracted and the metal door creaked open, causing a light draft of cool air to fill the room. The man tied to the chair once again felt the familiar sense of fear running through him.

Someone walked in.

# # #

Little did the man know that there was already someone else in the room. Someone who was not bound to a chair, or bound in any other way for that matter. He had been standing still, leaning against the wall adjacent to the door for the better part of an hour, alternating his stoic gaze between the helpless man in the chair and the dank wall opposite, trying to make patterns out of the stains on it. Unlike the bound man, who at points had been borderline hyperventilating, his breathing had remained calm the entire time. Though that had not been without a great deal of effort.

There was not much in the small room he was in to distract from the man in the chair, either. The room itself was a windowless box. Nothing in it besides the sand that covered the ground and the single light bulb that hung from the ceiling. Well, nothing besides him and the other occupant. Making patterns out of the damp on the opposite wall was the closest thing to a distraction he had found. Even though the temperature was well over seventy, he had his black jacket zipped up and his hands stashed in his pockets. He didn't feel that hot.

When the door creaked open, it took him several seconds before he turned his head leftwards to see his "partner" enter the room. He wasn't actually sure whether they were partners; they had been working together for a couple of weeks now but no-one had _officially _paired them yet. Introduced as only Cooper, he was several inches shorter, but his broad shoulders and ropey muscles made up for it. Cooper didn't really speak to him, other than when he gave him orders. He'd told him to watch the man in the chair.

Cooper slowly stepped in the room without turning towards him, and stepped up to the man in the chair, standing impassively before him. The light bounced off his dark greasy hair. The man in the chair began to breath faster.

"Dr Busgang," Cooper said calmly, pulling off the black bag.

Cooper paused for a second as Howard Busgang squinted through his glasses, adjusting to the bright light of the room. Busgang then saw the man standing against the wall and frowned. But his attention quickly went back to Cooper.

"I'm sorry about the unpleasantries, Dr Busgang," Cooper continued. "But you are an incredibly difficult man to get hold off."

Busgang looked up at him, sweat running profusely down his forehead, and swallowed. "You should've called my office..."

"Funny." Cooper smiled through his unshaven face, revealing several dirty teeth. "But I doubt the Department of Defence would have given me an appointment with one of the lead scientists on Project Omaha."

Busgang swallowed again. "You know about Project Omaha?"

Cooper knelt before him so he was at eye level with Busgang. He gently removed Busgang's glass from his face and tucked them into the bald man's shirt pocket.

"Howard," he said smiling, "do you know really think The Ring would go to all this trouble to get you here if we didn't know about Project Omaha?"

Cooper didn't wait for a response, but instead stood up and started to slowly walk around the chair Busgang was seated in, still not acknowledging or even looking at his partner in the corner of the room.

"Project Ohama, Howard," Cooper continued. "The intersect. The super-computer that contains all the CIA and NSA intelligence. The computer that you helped built."

"But Project Ohama was disbanded months ago... It was abandoned. The computer was destroyed, it was deemed too much of a risk."

"Yes, Howard. That's correct." Cooper laughed wryly. "However, The Ring believes that before the computer was destroyed, the intersect was downloaded. Into a person."

The man standing against the wall flinched slightly as Cooper said this.

Busgang's eyes raised from the floor, genuine surprise in them. "But that's impossible. It's never even been tested on a human before. We never even got to the testing stage when the project was disbanded. The data retention ratio would have to be in the 98th percentile..."

The man against the wall could see that his partner was paying little attention to this. Instead Cooper was drawing out his Walther P99 from under his jacket. He came round to face Busgang.

Busgang saw the gun and his eyes widened. "Please..."

Cooper smiled again, the gun hanging loosely at his side. "Howard. The Ring believes that the Intersect was downloaded into a person," he repeated. "I would like for you to tell me who that person is."

The man standing against the wall hated Cooper's smile.

Busgang's eyes darted from the Cooper to the other man. "There's no such person. Honestly. That's all I know."

Without warning, Cooper raised the Walther and shot Busgang just south of his right kneecap. Busgang cried out and the man against the wall widened his eyes.

Cooper wrinkled his nose, sniggering. "Choose the word that would best describe your pain, Howard."

Busgang was sobbing now.

Cooper sighed. "I'm going to ask you again, Howard. Who is the Intersect?"

"I don't know. Please, I really don't. I swear."

Cooper grimaced and turned to his partner. He walked over to him, not making eye contact and whispered in his ear so Busgang couldn't hear. "Well?"

The man looked over at Busgang and saw the pleading expression in his eyes. "He's being truthful."

From the sigh of relief that came from the chair, he could tell Busgang had heard him.

"That's what I thought. A pity," Cooper said in his partner's ear, before turning towards the door.

He paused at the entrance.

"Tell the guards to clean this mess up."

Both Busgang and the man looked at him, suddenly puzzled.

_No._

Cooper turned and shot Busgang in the head. The chair crashed back against the floor, taking Howard Busgang's dead body with it.

Chuck Bartowski jumped up from the wall he had been leaning against. The sound from the second shot was still ringing through his ears. He turned to see that Cooper had already left the room.

Chuck walked slowly over to fallen chair in the centre of the room. His legs were stiff from standing still for so long. He looked over at Busgang, a red flower was forming between his eyes. Staring down at the dead man, he suddenly felt incredibly sick. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

He slowly walked out of the room and looked at the two guards outside in the corridor sporting sub-machine guns.

"Cooper wants you to clean up in there."

The guard on the left nodded. "Yes, sir."

# # #

_OMG! Chuck has joined The Ring! What is going on? Has our famous boy scout gone to dark side? Anyhoo, there it is. Chapter 1 of Chuck Versus The World. Hope you liked it. I promise the next chapter will be longer, better and faster. We'll also be seeing some familiar faces..._


	2. The Worst Day Since Yesterday

_Second chapter of Chuck Versus The World is up. Hopefully this chapter will be a little more satisifying than the last one. I just want to say a massive thank you to my Beta reader, __**DanaPAH**__, who really helped me along and made this chapter waaaaay better than it originally was. She even let me leave in the British spellings of words!_

_Anyway, please leave some reviews! They would be much appreciated._

**Chapter 2**

**The Worst Day Since Yesterday**

**May 10th, 2007**

**Central Intelligence Agency**

**Langely, Virginia**

**10:37 EST**

Sarah Walker hated waiting. She really didn't have the patience for the situation she was in now. It was different on missions, when patience could be the crucial difference between success and failure, and sometimes her survival. Being patient in those situations was a means to be end, not to mention a necessity. But all this bureaucracy she was having to put up with really wasn't worth her patience. The metal chair she was sitting in wasn't particularly comfortable, either, its curvature forcing her to sit bolt upright. However, that didn't seem to be bothering her partner, who was sitting in a similar chair on the opposite side of the hallway, who was looking impassively at the floor, his expression unreadable. Well, if anything was actually bothering Bryce Larkin he was unlikely to show it.

"Sarah, stop worrying," she heard him say, dragging her back from her thoughts.

He had looked up from the floor and was nodding to her left side.

Sarah turned to see her left hand was restlessly tapping against the chair. She stopped it, annoyed that Bryce had noticed her obvious tell.

Forcing herself to take a breath, she gave her partner a small smile. "Sorry, I just don't like to wait."

Bryce nodded, not bothering to return her smile. "We'll both be fine. The committee has our testimony and we're both going to be in the clear. This hearing is just a formality."

With that he went back to staring at the floor.

Since they had got back from the mission, Bryce had been acting cold and distant towards her - no, actually it had started long before the mission. They had been working together for just over two years now and had been, well, more than that for little under a year. To say things were complicated between them was an understatement. True, a lot of their relationship was built on that _heat-of-the-moment _adrenaline that came with their line of work, but she cared about Bryce. At least she thought she did. She liked to think he cared about her too.

Maybe he was finally getting bored with her. Like everyone did.

But emotions aside, she didn't know how he could be so confident about the outcome of the hearing. They had spent the last seven days being quizzed about the mission. About what had gone wrong. Sure, the mission had been a bust, quite a large one at that, but did it really warrant a full inquiry ordered by the Director himself? After all, the secondary team had managed to complete the objective after her team had failed to do so.

_Her _team. It wasn't actually her team. It was Bryce's team. Even though they both held the same level of clearance, the Director had made it quite clear to them that Bryce in charge, and that _she_ was to follow_ his _orders.

That had bothered her more than it should.

Right before that meeting she had meet the other member of Bryce's team. It had been a strange encounter, as the man before her didn't immediately strike her as a field agent. Bryce had introduced him as Charles Bartowski, saying that they went way back. Charles - or Chuck he has politely insisted she call him - had bumbled slightly when standing up to shake her hand. His lanky limbs had looked uncomfortable in the suit he was wearing. Something in his eyes had seemed different.

Chuck had remained largely quiet during the briefing with Graham and after, when Bryce was out of earshot, she had asked him how he knew Bryce. Chuck had mumbled something about them both going to college together, not looking at her. She decided not to pursue the subject, sensing his reluctance to discuss the subject, and made a mental note to ask Bryce about him later. But she never got the chance to before the mission.

10 days ago, they had arrived in Columbia. They had been tasked with destroying a remote training camp belong to the guerilla movement_ Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia - _the FARC, located deep in the Colombian jungle. It had been a black operation, meaning their could be no evidence of any CIA involvment whatsoever. The Director had particularly emphasised this point to them, stressing that it was pivotal the Columbian Government didn't find out about the operation. Something about regional status quo.

The plan Bryce had devised had been relatively simple; the three of them would covertly enter the camp at night and place charges where the gas barrels were being stored. When the barrels went off, anyone would think it was just the guerillas being careless.

Needless to say, the mission hadn't gone exactly according to plan. After they had gone as far as they could in the Jeep, they parked it at the side of the dirt track and covered it with leaf litter and had continued on foot.

When they were within half a kilometer of the camp, Bryce and turned to her and told her to wait there and make sure there escape route back to the Jeep was covered. She had been initially reluctant to do so but, as Bryce had reminded her, this was his mission, ergo his rules. Bryce and Chuck had continued alone. She had patiently waited for 15 minutes, the time Bryce had said it would take plant the charges and get back, and saw no-one.

Then she had heard gunfire and everything had gone to hell.

At that moment, Bryce and Chuck had come sprinting out of the brush shouting at her to run, the guerillas right on their tail. They barely made it back to the Jeep. When she asked them what happened, Bryce simply said they had screwed up and that the secondary team would have to plant the charges.

When they got back to the airfield outside of Bogota, they learned that the secondary team had in fact managed to plant the charges and destroy the camp. Apparently, the majority of the camp's occupants had been out in the jungle searching for them, so it had been easy for the back up team to sneak in.

Bryce and Chuck had refused to talk about what happened on the flight back, neither looking at each other. When they got back to Langely, the inquiry began. She wasn't really able to answer questions about why the mission had gone wrong, because she didn't know. And so here she was now, waiting for the hearing.

It then became apparent that Chuck wasn't waiting in the hallway with them. Both her and Bryce had been told to report to the hearing at 10:30 and she assumed that he'd been told to as well.

"Hey Bryce, where's-"

"Agent Larkin? Agent Walker?" Graham's young secretary poked her head out of the double doors of the room where the hearing was taking place.

"The committee will see you now," she said holding the door open for the both of them.

Sarah straightened her skirt as she stepped through the door, which she noticed was considerably longer than Graham's sectretary's. _Ah, Graham. You're such a cliché._

The room consisted of a long rectangular table, with a set of windows at the far end, The blinds drawn to block out the morning sunlight. The Director was sitting at the centre of one of the table, flanked either side by a couple of other higher ups. Graham's secretary took her place at a computer in corner, ready to take notes. There were only one other occupant in the room, sitting at the opposite side of the table facing the Director. It was Chuck. A glass of water sat untouched on the table in front of him. He didn't look up at either of them as they took their seats next to him.

"Agents Larkin and Walker, sorry for the delay," Graham began, shuffling some papers in front of him. "But we wanted to speak to Agent Bartowski alone briefy."

"That's no problem, Director," she replied automatically, quickly stealing a glance at Chuck.

Bryce merely nodded.

Chuck still hadn't given them any indication he was aware of their presence. He seemed so deflated campared to the man Bryce had introduced her to a couple of weeks ago.

"Now, to the matter at hand," Graham bruqusely continued, delving straight into business. "We've reviewed all of your testimonies and that of the secondary team's. I'm sure you're all wondering why you're all here today at this hearing, as the secondary team did manage to complete _your _objectives and destroy the training camp."

Sarah noticed that Bryce was staring right at the Director, glaring into his eyes.

"Well," the Director continued, unphased by Bryce's action,"because of your careless arrogance in alterting the guards, a messege somehow found its way to local state media outlet. Want to guess what it contained?"

"But, sir," Sarah interjected. "Even if they got a messege out, the FARC are notoriously unreliable. Besides it's not as if there's any evidence that indicates a CIA or even _any_ American presence at all, for that matter."

"Be that as it may, Agent Walker," his deep voice booming through the large room. "The media has passed this on to the Columbian Government, and whilst they may not have _evidence_ it was us, they are letting it be known, through certain diplomatic channels, that they think it was us and aren't happy about not being consulted on this."

Sarah looked down at the table, suddenly feeling very stupid.

"Now." Graham once again looked down at the papers in front of him. "As I understand it, Agent Walker covered the escape route, while Agents Larkin and Bartowski preceded to the camp, which is when you were discovered. Normally, we might be willing to overlook this blunder, but the Columbians putting a lot of pressure on the State Deparment, who are in turn putting me under a lot of pressure to deal with this. Someone needs to be held to account."

Sarah started to realise where this was heading, what the point of the inquiry had been all along. This was not going to end well.

She looked at Bryce, who was still burning holes into the Director's head. He hadn't reacted at all to the Director's statement.

"Agents Larkin and Bartowski, your statements say that the guards saw _both _of you. Care to elaborate on this?"

Bryce broke his glare with the Director and sighed. "Sir...As the agent in charge, I feel responsible. But that doesn't change what happened."

She forced herself not to react as the alarm bells started ringing.

_What the hell are you doing, Bryce?_

"When we reached the camp, Agent Bartowski and I, we split up, briefly. Chuck was to cover me while I planted the charges. But two guards were able to get the drop on him and delay him long enough to sound the alarm. I heard the commotion and headed back, but by then it was too late..."

"Director, that's not what happened!" Chuck leapt up from his seat, having finally woken up from his stupor, causing Sarah to jump slightly in her seat.

"Agent Bartowski, sit down!" The Director shouted back at him.

"But sir, he's lying. He's selling me out!" Chuck turned to glare accusingly at Bryce. "Why are you doing this, Bryce?"

Bryce sighed.

"Agent Bartowski!"

Chuck opened his mouth as if to protest, but then seemed to have second thoughts and collapsed unceremoniously back into his seat.

Graham clenched his jaw. "Agent Larkin, are you saying that Agent Bartowski's actions directly resulted in the alarm being sounded?"

Sarah was speechless as she watched this train wreck unfold around her.

_Why was Bryce selling out Chuck like us?_

Bryce hesitated for a moment. "Yes, Director. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Chuck gave a small, resentful laugh. "That's crap."

"Very well then. Agent Bartowski, while I feel uncomfortable doing this, I have to take Agent Larkin's word on the matter. He was the senior operative on the mission, and the only other agent -" He nodded to Sarah. "-didn't witness what happened."

Chuck shook his head in disbelief and Sarah nearly felt herself mirroring the action.

"Furthermore, although I'm reluctant to admit it, I don't find it particuarly hard to believe. As your record indicates, the transition from analyst to field agent can be tricky one."

_Analyst?_

"Prehaps you weren't ready for a mission of this nature. Regardless, I have to address your failure. Normally, I might be willing to let you go back to being an analyst. But because of pressure from the State Department and the DNI, I can't do that. I'm sorry, Agent Bartowski. Your country thanks you for your service." With that, the three man sitting on the opposite side of the table began to shuffle their papers and start to get up.

"Don't I get a say in the matter of what happened, at all?" Chuck cried raising his arms in despair.

"There's nothing left to be said, Agent Bartowski," Graham dismissed coldy, not looking at him. "The guard outside will escort you off government property."

The three officals then left the room, followed quickly by Graham's secretary.

Chuck was the first to break the silence by getting up. He gave a small self- defeated sigh. "Well Bryce, I guess I shouldn't be suprised, after Stanford."

"You did this to yourself," Bryce spat, turning to give him at angry stare with those ice blue eyes.

"Screw you, Bryce," Chuck said as he stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

_What the hell just happened?_

Bryce shifted in his chair to face Sarah, the malice was gone from his eyes. He saw her expression and shook his head. "Don't look at me like that. I know what I'm doing."

Bryce too, then shuffled out of the room, leaving only Sarah sitting at the long table. Alone.

Her mind was buzzing at the events of the last fews minutes, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Why had Bryce sold Chuck out like that? Why hadn't he told her any of this before now?

Sarah had more questions than answers right now. She had a feeling she wasn't going to get them from Bryce.

_So much for just a formality, Bryce._

**October 1st, 2007**

**Baja California, Mexico**

**23:11 PST**

Chuck slammed the motel door closed behind him and collapsed against it, making sure the barrier he had between him and the outside world stayed shut. He let his head fall back against the wooden door and closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm the anxiety he felt. Anxiety had long been a problem of his, and he was used to dealing with it. But not like this. It was never this bad. He remembered back to Stanford, when he had first asked out Jill whilst they had been riding the ferris wheel. He had been so nervous then. But this was so much worse. It was almost laughable to compare the two situations; asking out Jill and what had just occured. Over the past few months, the attacks had become worse and more frequent. Tonight was just the latest setback. That night on the ferris wheel, Jill had calmed him down by kissing him.

She wasn't here to do that now.

After several minutes of slow breathing, he started to feel some semblance of control return to him. He then become aware of an uncomfortable pain pressing against his back. Chuck reached behind him and pulled the Walther P99 from out of the back of his jeans. It was same type of gun that Cooper had used to kill Dr Busgang, not one hour ago. The same gun that James Bond used.

_Some James Bond I am. _

Chuck ejected the clip and pulled back the slide to let the loaded round drop from the chamber. It didn't bounce on the cream coloured carpet as it hit the floor. He then threw the now empty gun to the other side of the room, where he couldn't see it. Where it could stay. Even after everything, he still hated guns.

He thoughts fell back to Dr Busgang. The plan hadn't been to kill him. Cooper had told Chuck on the flight in that they were just going to question him about the intersect project. Prehaps he had been naive to think that Cooper would ever _just _question someone. Even though he had only known the man for a couple of weeks, he had already seen the type of ruthless methods he used. Methods that Chuck wasn't comfortable with. Even now, being part of The Ring, who required to do so many things he wasn't comfortable with.

Although, even for Cooper this was particularly ruthless. Dr Busgang had been civilian; he wasn't a threat to anyone.

Chuck suddenly felt very sick, the memory of Dr Busgang's execution replaying in his head. He launched himself off the door into the small bathroom his room came with, and held his head over the toilet. He began to retch.

Several minutes later, he was feeling slightly better. He used to basin to pull himself up and splashed some icy water over his face with shaky hands. Looking up, the man who stared back at him in the mirror had dark and deep bags under his eyes.

God, he looked terrible. He needed to sleep.

He groped at the tube of spearmint toothpaste on the side of the basin, and not bothering with a toothbrush, squeezed some straight into his mouth and rinsed it around for a while before spitting it back out. Taking several gulps of water from the tap, he tried to quell the burning at the back of his throat and failed miserably.

He walked back into the adjoining bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to undress. Looking around for the first time since he'd arrived, he saw that the motel he was in wasn't that bad; it was shabby but at least it was clean. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure where said motel was. As soon as they had arrived in Mexico, Cooper had driven them both to the motel, where they had dropped off their bags, and then immediately headed to the small compound a few miles out of the town, where Dr Busgang was being held. The small compound didn't exactly have sleeping facilities. Even if it had, the thought of staying there wasn't exactly pleasant, given what he had just witnessed.

Chuck's encrypted phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He groaned. The outside world was calling.

_Looks like the door wasn't that great of a barrier after all. _

He was momentarily tempted to ignore it.

"Yeah, Carmichael," he said, not recognising the dispassionate voice as his own.

"It's Cooper. Did you take care of Busgang?" came his partner's voice, disregarding any need for small talk.

"The guards have taken care of it," Chuck replied, wincing slightly.

Cooper grunted. "There's nothing else here now. We're leaving tomorrow morning, flying to LA. Got something to take care of."

"Right," Chuck replied, but his partner had already hung up.

_Los Angeles. Ellie. God, she'd hate me now._

Chuck closed his eyes and like every night of late, hoped for the sleep he knew would not come. Part of him was grateful for this, for he knew exactly the type of dreams that sleep would bring.


	3. In My Sleep Seeing Red

_**A/N: ** I know it's been absolutely ages since I updated this story, but for anyone who is still interested, it's a bit longer than the previous chapters, so I hope that makes up for it. _

_Again, I want to say a massive thank you to my beta, **DanaPAH**, who has been really amazing in editing this chapter and made a load of helpful suggestions. _

_**Dana –** Apparently there are two spellings of Whisky, a Scottish spelling (Whisky) and an Irish spelling (Whiskey). I went with the Scottish spelling as I'm most familiar with it, but I guess they use the Irish one in the States. ;)_

_Also, my incorrect spelling of Johnnie Walker has now been corrected. _

_Even though this isn't a Christmas story, thought I'd say Merry Christmas anyway for those who celebrate Christmas, and Happy Holidays for those who don't!_

_Please read, review and enjoy! _

**Chapter 3**

**In My Sleep Seeing Red**

**October 2****nd****, 2007**

**Los Angeles, California**

**17:38 PST**

Chuck slit the card into the electronic lock of the hotel door, and after a green light flashed, stepped into a much nicer room than the one he had just left. It was pretty impressive; there was a king size bed at the centre, a flat screen TV, a large bath and a rather spectacular view of downtown L.A. The CIA would never splash out on a room like this for only a few days stay. Yet another difference in the way that the CIA and The Ring operated.

He was staying under an alias. An alias to his alias. Several minutes ago, Daniel Marks had checked in, here in town representing his New York management consultancy firm at a conference, or so the receptionist's computer had told him. What Chuck was really here for, he couldn't say. It had been a short and uneventful flight back from Mexico and Cooper had refused to divulge anything about what they were here to do, other than that they had something to take of. When Cooper had dropped him off, he'd told Chuck not to get too comfortable, as they were only going to be in Los Angeles for a few days.

Chuck threw his small travel bag down on the bed and ran his hands through his hair. He had cut it short several weeks ago, and his brown curls were only just starting to reappear. Still, despite its short length, his hair was a mess. He hadn't had time for a shower before they left Mexico, as Cooper had started pounding on his door at the crack of dawn, saying they had to leave. The drive back to the dusty Mexican airstrip in the open top _Jeep_ hadn't done wonders for his cleanliness either, and the small _Cessna _thathad flown them back didn't have the facilities for him to clean up in.

He really did need a shower.

He sighed and kicked off his boots.

Chuck began to methodically empty his pockets, dumping his phone and wallet on the bed. The latter fell open, revealing the empty picture holder. His heart began to fill with regret as he stared into it. He could almost see the crumpled picture that used to be there of him and Ellie, back when she was in medical school and he was at Stanford. They had looked so happy in that photo, despite all the hardships they'd had to endure. That felt like a life time ago.

He'd had to get rid of that photo.

He quickly closed his wallet, shutting the memory away and began to strip. He put his dark jacket over the back of a chair. The jacket was heavily worn and he probably should have thrown it away by now, but Ellie had bought that for him. He needed that jacket.

He cast his gun down on the bed, next to his wallet and phone and, instantly, felt lighter. Carrying it with him so often was starting to make him feel that the gun was an extension of his actual person, and that disgusted him. Yesterday that disgust had finally come to the surface. He'd hastily had to reassemble the _Walther_ in the morning before Cooper could see the evidence of his moment of weakness.

He let his shirt and jeans fall to the floor, before pulling off his boxers. Not bothering to fold his discarded clothes, he strode straight into the bathroom and into the walk-in shower. He turned the temperature gauge right down and, pulling the handle down hard, let the freezing water rain down on him.

He silently screamed into the shower wall as he let the water rinse all over him, washing away all the traces of the last few days. His skin felt like it was on fire.

He was in control.

His skin was becoming raw.

He was in control.

Outer extremities were starting to lose feeling.

Busgang was on the floor dead in Mexico.

Just a little longer.

He was responsible for his death.

His body was now begging for a release.

That was enough.

Chuck slowly began to reverse to temperature gauge.

Like a sudden release of breath, he started to feel better, the warm water gradually returning feeling to his body.

He was in control.

He controlled his life.

After toweling himself off, he went back into his bedroom and pulled on a clean pair of boxers and crawled under the covers of his bed. Into the warmth.

Chuck didn't feel tired.

Despite everything, he felt wide awake.

He just stared at the ceiling above.

He really wasn't feeling that tired.

He didn't even want to close his eyes.

# # #

_Echo Park looked exactly the way it had the last time he'd been there. The hanging plants weres still slighly overgrown, the garden chairs were still spread casually around the courtyard and water was splashing from the fountain into the pond, still peacefully breaking the silence._

_Chuck smiled contentedly as he surveyed the nostalgic scene before him. _

It was good to be home.

_He walked past the fountain and up to the apartment he used to share with his sister. The door was hanging slightly ajar, giving him pause._

_No-one was there. _

_He frowned slightly at the lack of greeting party._

"_Ellie? Devon?" he called as he leant hesitantly through the door. A feeling of unease was starting to creep up on him. "Guys? It's me."_

_No response._

_Not wanting to jump to any conclusions, he swallowed back his unease and stepped inside. _

_They could have just stepped out for a minute, or gone for a run and forgot to close the door, or someone could have broke in and-_

"_Ellie? Dev-"_

_Relief flooded through him and the smile returned to his face as he saw his sister and her boyfriend sitting on the couch. He had missed them both terribly and his sore eyes drunk in the sight before him._

_He took a deep breath. _

"_Hey guys. How are you?"_

_His smile slipped slightly as he recieved no response from either of them._

"_Err, guys? It's me. I know I haven't been around in a while, but it's me. It's Chuck."_

_He then noticed that they hadn't looked at him. Instead, they were both sitting upright staring at the television. The television that was turned off. And even more troubling were the blank expressions on their faces. _

"_Ellie? It's me. It's your brother! Say something!"_

_Seeming to recognise the rising level of desperation in his voice, Ellie turned her head slightly towards him and squinted, not quite looking into his eyes. Her eyes were very white and she seemed to be gazing right through him, trying to focus on something in the distance._

"_My brother?" she questioned, the words seeming to sound foreign to her as she said them. "My brother's dead."_

_Chuck started to shake his head."__Dead? __No, Ellie. I'm not dead. I'm here, see."_

_He moved over in front of them, blocking their view of the TV, and picked up Ellie's hand._

"_Look," he pleaded, holding her hand tightly, trying desperately to find some form of recognition in her eyes. "See, it's me. I'm here."_

_Ellie merely shook her head. "No. No, you're not my brother. Chuck died a long time ago."_

"_I didn't die, Ellie. I'm here.__ Ellie, please. __ I'm right here!"_

_Ellie didn't answer._

"_No, bro. You're not," Devon said, answering for her, his voice low and carrying the same hollowness as Ellie's._

_Now Chuck was really starting to panic. What was wrong with them? Couldn't they see that it was him? Sure, he had been gone a while and they were probably upset that he hadn't exactly kept in contact. But for them to think he was dead? He hadn't changed that much, had he?_

"_Hey, buddy," another__ familiar__ voice said from the back of the apartment._

_Chuck's spirits immediately lifted and he looked up to see Morgan walking round the corner, his bearded friend eating an apple._

"_Morgan!"_

_Chuck quickly moved past Ellie and Devon, towards his best friend. His best friend who had miraculously recognised him. _

_Morgan drew his other hand out of his pocket and held it up in front of Chuck. "Wow, slow down there, buddy!"_

"_Morgan, we gotta do something. Something's wrong with Ellie and Awesome. Something's really very wrong. They don't know who I am!"_

_Morgan grimaced and shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with them. Sorry, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but you're dead."_

"_What? __No, I'm not. I'm right here!"_

_But before Morgan could respond, he felt a hand on his left shoulder. He turned to see Cooper standing there next to him. His grey, emotionless eyes were staring into him._

"_Come on, Chuck. It's time to go."_

"_No!" Chuck cried, trying to shake hand from his shoulder. "This is my family! I'm staying right here!"_

_Cooper frowned and looked around."What family? No-one's here, Chuck."_

_Chuck looked around the now empty apartment, stunned. Ellie, Awesome and Morgan were all gone._

_They couldn't be gone, they were just here. He had just seen them! _

"_NO!"_

"_Come on, Carmichael." Cooper said laughing him off, gesturing towards the door. _

_The grey eyes suddenly filled with malice. "Chuck's dead."_

_Chuck felt a sudden wave of anger pass through him, "No, I'm not."_

_And he lashed out at Cooper._

# # #

Chuck was ripped back into consciousness by the sudden pain in his hand.

And the strength his anger.

His right hand was throbbing.

He opened his eyes to see that his knuckles were covered in blood. He turned to see that

he had hit the small wooden cabinet by the side of his bed. The wood was splintered slightly, with several drops of blood mixed in.

_Shit._

His head fell back down hard against the pillow.

He glanced over at the small clock in his room, and saw that it had been 40 minutes since he'd got out of the shower. He was now drenched in sweat. At least he had slept.

He was about to go clean his hand when his phone started to vibrate. Grabbing it with his good hand, he pulled it to his ear.

"Yeah, what is it?" he growled, the anger he still felt echoing through his words.

Cooper gave no indication he had heard – or cared about – Chuck's tone.

"I'm texting you an address, be there in 30 minutes."

Chuck was really getting impatient with Cooper's cryptic nature. "Why? More scientists to execute?"

The other man actually chuckled down the phone, which only fuelled his anger.

"Not this time, Carmichael. But there's something special we got planned for you."

Chuck listened for more, but there was none.

# # #

The day was starting to wane when Chuck got a cab to the downtown address Cooper had texted him. He'd barely had to time to clean up his hand and re-shower before he'd had to leave the hotel room. He'd wrapped up his hand in an improvised bandage; fortunately the cut wasn't deep enough for him to need stitches. His travel bag hadn't contained any painkillers and, consequently, the pain currently emanating from his hand was keeping him alert. It almost made up for his lack of real sleep. Almost.

He'd asked the driver to roll down the window on the way over. The air that had blasted his face was cold, but it had helped calm the emotions that had been running through him since the dream. He desperately needed to relax. He could not afford to have these emotions running through him right now.

The taxi dropped him off in front of a large indistinct office building, where Cooper was waiting for him. He payed the driver and walked over to his partner.

"What happened to your hand?" Cooper asked, nodding at his bandaged hand.

"Kitchen accident," Chuck replied dismissively.

Apparently satisfied with the response, Cooper gestured for him to follow and led them into the office building.

They passed through a tall glass door and crossed the large empty lobby. The guard sitting at the reception desk briefly looked up at them before going back to his crossword. At the back of the lobby there were a row of elevators, which they came a stop in front of. Cooper pressed the up button and, with a little ring, the elevator doors on the far left opened. They stepped into it.

"Which floor?" Chuck asked.

"The top one."

He hit the button for the twentieth floor, thinking that was odd. The building had looked at least ten stories higher from the outside.

The elevator began to rise.

"So," Chuck began, digging his hands into his pockets. "Something special planned, huh? Is it a mission?"

No answer.

"I only ask," he continued, allowing his overriding tendency to babble breaking the uncomfortable silence, "because I wasn't sure whether there was anything I needed to bring for said mission. Throwing knives? Nun-chucks? Lightsaber?"

Cooper frowned at him. His attempt at humour clearly not getting through.

Although, that was implying that the other man even had a sense of humour.

"No, it's not a mission."

Before Chuck could reply, the elevator doors opened to reveal a small room with another reception desk at the centre. The guard behind this one was wearing a different uniform. He readily jumped up from his seat as he saw the two men step out of the elevator and nodded at Cooper, before walking over to the other side of the room, where there was a second elevator. He twisted a key into a wall panel and the other elevator's door opened.

Chuck followed Cooper across the room to the other elevator, his curiosity rising. The doors closed as they stepped inside. This elevator was considerably smaller than the one they had just exited. There were twelve buttons by the door, none of them labelled. Chuck counted that Cooper hit the seventh one up.

_Probably something more important than typical offices up here._

Cooper turned toward him. "I'm going to need you to hand over your gun."

_What the hell?_

He'd grown accustomed to carrying the gun on him and, as much as he hated having to do so, being asked to surrender it now was making him feel uneasy. Unprotected.

"Why?"

Cooper shrugged. "Precaution."

_They still don't trust me. _

Chuck raised an eyebrow slightly and passed the other man his gun.

"Do you have any other weapons on you?"

"No. Just the _Walther._"

The ride up was briefer this time. They exited into a long narrow corridor, the lighting arranged in such a way to almost conceal the doors on either side of it. Several security cameras were tactically placed along its length.

At the end of the corridor there was a door to a large looking office with a secretary's desk in front of it. Behind it sat a blonde women in her thirties, dressed in a business suit. She was talking on the phone as they approached.

"Yes, contact the ambassador about the ransom offer..."

She trailed off as she saw Chuck and Cooper come to halt in front of her.

"I'll have to get back to you," she said before hanging up the phone.

She flashed a smile at the two men, which Chuck could see that it was forced.

"Gentlemen, you can go right in. He's expecting you."

Cooper gestured for Chuck to go first.

Chuck stepped round the desk and into the large office.

Instead of following him in, Cooper promptly closed the door behind him, causing Chuck to flinch slightly.

Looks like he was alone for this one.

There was a very planar feeling about the room he had just entered. The empty walls were grey, the same colour as the floor. At the rear of the room was a wide window and in front of it was steel desk. There was no sign of any decoration or personal items anywhere in the room.

Behind the desk stood a short man who was staring out the window.

"Welcome, Agent Carmichael. I've been waiting to meet you for a very long time."

He spoke with an accent that Chuck thought was English, but there was something that sounded indeterminate about it.

"Err, likewise," Chuck responded awkwardly, not recognising the other man's voice. "Who are you, sorry?"

The man, who looked to be around forty and was balding slightly at the temples, turned to face him. Chuck noted the expensive Italian suit that he was wearing and, with all the addition security he had just been subject to, concluded that this man must be very high up in the Ring.

"I'm the Director, Charles," he replied simply. "Take a seat."

If not for the blank expression on his face, Chuck would have mistaken his tone for sarcasm.

Chuck walked up to the desk and took the only seat in front of it.

"I have to say, you've really impressed me so far," the Director continued, taking his own seat behind the desk.

Chuck smiled.

"The intelligence you've provided since you arrived has been of great use to us."

"I try to please."

"Evidently," said the Director, pushing his palms together. "Your skills as an analyst have also been useful and Dr Cooper reports that you have performed adequately in the field."

Chuck frowned slightly, _Dr Cooper?_

"Yes," The Director said, picking up on his surprise. "He holds a doctorate in psychology. He actually speaks relatively highly of you. Judging by your expression, I take it you're not too fond of him. I don't like him, either. But sociopaths like him are an unpleasant necessity in our line of business."

The Director then pulled a file out of the desk drawer and slid it across the table.

"What's this?"

"That, Charles, is you," the Director smoothly answered. "You. Your academic record at Stanford. Your record at the CIA as an analyst and your brief history as a field agent."

He paused to let the last part linger slightly.

Chuck swallowed slightly, trying to maintain the composed expression on his face. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because, Charles. It shows one thing. You've never killed anyone. You were no Bryce Larkin at the CIA, Charles. Not much of a spy, were you?"

"I _am_ a spy," Chuck retorted, not bothered to hide the resentment in his tone.

"You've never killed anyone," the Director repeated.

"I've never had the chance to. The CIA canned me before I could pass my Red Test," Chuck said quickly. He wasn't going to let the past hold him back now.

The Director nodded, then threw a second file across the table to Chuck and indicated for him to open it.

Chuck warily opened the file. Inside was a photo of a man and several papers. The man in the photo looked to be in his late twenties, with shoulder length brown hair and matching brown eyes. There was nothing in this man's appearance to suggest why he was being shown this photo. In fact, he looked perfectly normal.

Chuck frowned, he was starting to get an all too familiar bad feeling about this.

"That is Raymond Perry," The Director said, having allowed him a few moments to read over the file. "Raised on the East Coast. Graduated MIT with a major in computer sciences. Had a brief stint in the army. Now, he works as someone who finds hard-to-get information. Supposedly, he works exclusively for us."

Chuck looked up from the file. "I take it this isn't the case."

"No," The Director said, shaking his head, "He also sells information to the CIA and several other agencies. He thinks that we're unaware of this. We've never really been bothered by his other activities before. But recently he's been exposed to lot more _sensitive _information and the potential that he could pass it on the CIA has become to greater risk."

He knew what he was going to be asked to do now. He'd managed to avoid doing it so far, but he'd always known it had been inevitable, really. The very thought of it was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Inside, every part of his body screaming at him, telling him that this was wrong. Still, somehow, Chuck managed to remain composed.

_Don't say it._

"I want you to kill him, Charles."

# # #

**October 5****th****, 2007**

**South Central, Los Angeles**

**California**

**20:54 PST**

The bar Chuck found himself walking into several nights later was several blocks south of Washington Boulevard and not a place he would normally go. There was nothing particularly wrong with the bar; sure it was slightly dingy, but it just lacked an atmosphere. There was no music playing and and the bar had barely any patrons, even considering it was a Friday night.

Not that it mattered.

He wasn't exactly here for a drink.

He sat down on a stool by the bar near the entrance and waved to the sole bartender who slowly walked over, polishing a glass with a dirty looking rag.

"Single whisky. Straight."

The bartender grunted and pulled a bottle of _Johnnie Walker _down from the shelf. He poured out a slightly conservative measure into a glass and set it down in front of Chuck.

Chuck let the drink sit there a while as he surveyed the other occupants of the bar.

There were a couple of guys in work overalls that were stripped to the waist playing pool at the back. A man in a leather jacket was sipping on a beer in the far corner. And then Chuck saw him. The only other person in the bar.

Raymond Perry.

The man he had been sent here to kill.

Perry was sitting in a wooden booth, alone, looking very out of place in his expensive jacket. A glass of coke in front of him. He looked exactly like he had in the photo the Director had shown him.

Chuck still didn't know what he was going to do.

He wasn't a killer.

After the Director had told him that he had to kill Perry, he'd given Chuck the address to this bar and told him Perry would be here tonight at this time. Perry had been told that this was just a regular meet.

Taking a deep breath, Chuck cradled his glass, but still did not drink.

The Director had made it abundantly clear to him that this wasn't only his Red Test, but should also be regarded as a sign of his loyalty.

From all that he had seen in his file, Chuck knew that Perry was a bad person. No loyalty to anyone. He didn't even have a cause. He would probably sell his mother, just to get the next paycheck.

But that didn't justify what he had been told to do.

Nothing could.

Perry glanced around the bar and looked at his watch, tutting loudly.

_He's wondering where his contact is._

Then he heard Ellie's voice in his head.

"_Y__ou're not my brother. Chuck died a long time ago."_

He couldn't get that dream out of his head.

This wasn't him.

He abhorred violence and killing, and in the past he had avoided it wherever possible. Now, here he was, seriously contemplating taking a life.

Maybe Chuck Bartowski really was dead.

Perry had clearly had enough of waiting as, after finishing his drink, he began to shuffle towards the back exit of the bar.

At that moment, Chuck decided what he was going to do.

He was beyond going back now.

It was pointless to try and cling on to the strings of his former life. A life he would never get back.

He knew what he was about to do would change him as person, and he would probably resent himself for this for the rest of his life.

He would just have to live with it.

That would be his punishment.

_Screw it._

He made his decision. Swallowing his whisky in one gulp, Charles Carmichael threw a ten down on the bar and followed Perry out of the bar.

# # #

**May 10****th****2007**

**Washington, D.C.**

**14:15 EST**

The drive back from Langley to her apartment in D.C had been swift. Driving back in the middle of the afternoon meant that the traffic was relatively light and she could let her _porche_ go all out. It was a pleasant distraction from what she had just witnessed.

Sarah Walker loved to drive.

It was the one time she felt completely free and unconstrained. The wind could flow freely through her hair. There was no need to think about anything. No CIA, no missions, and no internal politics. No ridiculous hearings.

When she got back to her apartment building, only a few bills were waiting for her in the lobby mailbox. Despite this being her private residence, very few people knew she lived here. Sarah didn't really have many people in the way of friends. She had her Dad, but she no idea where he was at the moment and, quite honestly, wasn't sure she wanted to know. There was Carina, who was probably the closest thing she had to a friend. Though the other woman would vehemently deny that title. And then there was Bryce.

Bryce.

Who had just sold Chuck out to the committee in order to save his own skin, without a second thought. His actions remained a mystery, and she just couldn't figure out his motives. In fact, as much as she hated to admit it, many of Bryce's actions prior to the hearing hadn't made much sense to her for a long time.

When she reached the top of the wooden stairs, she felt something around her ankles. Looking down, she saw Mrs Wiltes' ginger cat wondering between her legs, purring. She bent down to scratch the cat behind the ears. "You've missed me, haven't you?"

The cat purred loudly in response.

She smiled and carried on to the end of the hallway where her apartment was located. The apartment she kept in D.C. was only lightly furnished, for she was rarely ever in it. She'd spent most of her childhood on the road, not owning more than she could carry. Her career in the CIA only complimented that lifestyle. Still, she liked to think of the small apartment as home.

Apparently someone else did too.

From under the apartment door, Sarah could see that the light was on.

She really doubted that that was Mrs Wiltes' other cat.

Slipping into agent mode with an ease that came from experience, Sarah crept up to the door and cautiously pulled the _Smith & Wesson _out of her purse. She quietly opened the door and stepped inside.

Someone was standing behind the refrigerator door.

"Come out with your hands up!" she demanded, cocking the gun.

She tensed and tightened her grip on the gun as the door slowly began to close. Her posture immediately relaxed when the door closed completely, revealing a man with his arms in the air, a beer in his right hand.

"Jesus Christ, Bryce. I could have shot you!"

She uncocked the gun and put it back in her purse.

"Sorry." Bryce shrugged nonchalantly, sounding anything but apologetic."I let myself in."

"Well you should have waited," Sarah snapped, slamming the apartment door behind her closed.

Bryce stepped out of the kitchen and sat down on the couch taking a casual sip from his beer. "I figured we needed to talk."

Sarah almost rolled her eyes in disbelief.

_Now he wants to talk._

"What's there to talk about Bryce?" she harshly demanded. "You screwed Chuck over to save your own ass!"

Bryce shook his head. "I did what I did for us," he said calmly.

Exasperated, Sarah threw her coat and purse down on an empty chair.

"No Bryce, you did what you did for you. Not us," she angrily countered.

He wasn't going to pin this on _us_.Whatever us meant.

"And what about Chuck?" she continued, turning to face him and putting her hands on her hips. "What's he going to do now?"

Bryce shrugged again. "He's a bright kid. He'll be fine."

_A bright kid?_

Sarah couldn't believe how indifferent he was being. Even though she had sensed there was a tension between the two of them, she'd gotten the impression that Bryce and Chuck were friends.

"Look, Sarah. Chuck wasn't suited to be a field agent," Bryce added, sensing her disdain. "He hadn't even taken his Red Test yet. To be honest, I'm not sure he's even capable of doing that."

"Wait a minute?" Sarah frowned, suddenly puzzled by this latest revelation. "If you're not sure he's capable, why did you chose him for the Columbia mission?"

Bryce took a long swig from his beer before pausing to stare into her blue eyes.

"I wanted to help him out."

Sarah laughed sardonically. "Fat lot of help you gave him, Bryce."

"You know how the agency works, Sarah. The committee were out for blood. I wasn't going to lie."

She couldn't deal with this at the moment; everything she was hearing was too conflicting. Bryce's lame attempt at rationalising his actions just didn't make sense. Why did he even come back here?

"Look, Bryce. I really can't hear this right now." She resisted the urge to put her hands on her head; she didn't want Bryce to know just how much he was getting to her. Instead, she walked over to the door and held it open. "I think you should probably leave."

He gave her a defeated look.

"Okay," he capitulated with a nod of his head, and put his half empty beer down on the table as he rose to leave.

He paused in the doorway, giving her a hesitant look before finally speaking. "Sarah..."

She looked down at the floor, not meeting his gaze.

He moved to touch her hand slightly and she didn't recoil. His fingers gently traced her skin.

"I really care about you," he whispered.

He'd never said that before.

She found herself suddenly affected by what he had just said, and she hated that.

No-one had ever said that to her before. It shouldn't be so important to have someone care about her, but it was. She had denied that it was for so long.

But before she could look up, he was already halfway down the hallway.

# # #

**October 5****th**** 2007**

**Downtown, Los Angeles**

**California**

**21:07 PST**

The Director of The Ring was sitting alone in his office when the phone rang.

He liked his office; the large almost empty room gave space to think. Away from the clutter. Away from all the incompetence.

He'd taken a big gamble allowing Carmichael to come here three nights ago. There were some within the ranks of The Ring that believed him to be a double agent for the CIA. Carmichael didn't have the spine to be a double agent. He did believe the boy would come through for him, though. Judging by who was calling right now, he had been right.

"Yes?"

"It's done," came the calm voice of Carmichael.

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't take-"

"I'm sending you a photo."

The Director pulled the phone away from his ear to look at incoming picture. It was of a man lying on the ground in a pool of blood, a bullet hole through his chest. Even though there was hair over his face, the Director could clearly see it was the dead body of Raymond Perry.

"Congratulations, Charles. You're a true spy now."

He didn't wait for a response and hung up the phone.

Being right was fantastic.

_**A/N: **I know this Chapter has been a little mean to Chuck, but please stick with it. More will become apparent in the next chapter. Well, maybe. I know I keep saying. At the moment I'm planning to have it almost entirely Sarah's POV. So we'll see what happens._

_By the way, does anyone know the two things that the chapter title is referring to? Well, one of the them is obvious._

_Thanks, you guys are amazing. Now review!_


	4. Living A lie

_**A/N: **Wow, I've updated this in two weeks! I know it's pretty impressive, right? It's also my longest chapter to date. Go me. Hope everyone had a great Christmas and New Years, and is over all the post-holiday hangovers by now._

_As usual, a massive thank you to my beta reader, **DanaPAH**, for editing this chapter, despite it's length._

_I've taken a leaf out of the great **Frea O'Scanlin's **book, with a quote at the beginning. It may not be entirely appropriate but it just seemed to fit._

_Oh yeah, 8 days until Chuck! Well, 9 for people like me, if you live in the UK and have to download it off iTunes. ;) _

_Read and review!_

_# # #_

_I hate the idea of causes, and if I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country. _- E. M. Forster.

**Chapter 4**

**Living A Lie**

**October 8th, 2007**

**Griffith Park, Los Angeles**

**13:11 PST**

Raymond Perry had been dead for three nights now. Dawn had broken and the sun had risen three times since Chuck had pulled the trigger, and the world was still here. It had only taken one bullet to deliver the fatal blow. That was all it took to end nearly thirty years of life. Thirty years of build up, memories, and experiences, all gone in an instant. The irony really was wasted on the situation. If he had felt anything beyond an empty numbness, Chuck was sure he would have been disgusted by the poetic simplicity of it all. That was the worst part; he didn't even feel guilty. He couldn't. He didn't feel anything towards it.

He was sitting on a picnic table in the north end of Griffith Park, his feet resting on the seat, looking south at the Los Angeles skyline. Somewhere in one of those tower blocks, the Director was probably sitting in his office ticking off Perry on a list as another problem solved. Chuck was sure that was how the Director saw the world, in lists. Everything was black and white, there was no grey area. Everything was either a problem, a solution, or an opportunity.

Chuck knew that the world wasn't black and white. It was a gigantic mess of complications, lies, and hypocrisy, which he somehow found himself in the middle of. Although, he didn't need to think of things in terms of black and white to know that killing Perry had been wrong.

Cooper had told him to take a couple of days off, not out of sympathy for what he had just done, but rather because all Ring operatives needed to lay low for the moment. Chuck wasn't sure why and frankly, at the moment, he didn't really care.

He couldn't exactly remember getting to Griffith Park; he had just sort of found himself here. He'd left his hotel room and had just started walking. No, not walking. That wasn't the right word. Drifting. He had started drifting. Drifting along and letting the world pass by. At some point, a cab driver had pulled over to ask if he needed a ride. When he had ignored him, he had heard curses in Spanish and various other languages thrown at him in return. The meaning of the words may have been lost on him, but Chuck was sure that they were appropriate anyway. A couple of hours later, he was in Griffith Park.

He was feeling slightly more at ease here than sitting in his hotel room, despite the reality that he really shouldn't be here. Griffith Park was too close to Burbank; his sister's apartment was just around the corner and the BuyMore wasn't far. That was probably the reason why he had gravitated towards this place.

He had taken Jill here once, back in college. He'd brought her home with him at the end of the semester to introduce her to Ellie. But before they'd gone to the apartment, he had dragged her over to Griffith Park, insisting she had to visit the observatory. Jill had been reluctant to do so at first; she was already nervous about meeting his sister and didn't want to make a bad impression by being a late. Chuck had laughed this off, telling her how cute she sounded and that Ellie wouldn't mind. Jill had come round eventually and both of them had a great day.

Chuck almost smiled at the memory. He had seen a lot better times in this park.

As much as he wanted to go home to see his sister and his friends, he knew he couldn't. The last time he had seen them had been over six months ago, before the Columbia mission. Then his life had changed for the worst. He may have ruined his life, but he certainly wasn't going to ruin theirs and let them get caught up in any of this.

Chuck was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice a smaller man approaching him.

"Holy Moses!" the man cried as he saw the occupant of the bench.

Chuck wrenched up his head from the patch of grass that he had been staring at and found himself staring at the face of his childhood friend, whose bearded jaw seemed to have dropped farther than was humanly possible. The beard, along with his hair, were slightly shorter and more tidier than the last time he'd had seen them. The uniform was the same, although the green shirt looked like it had been ironed. The only truly unfamiliar thing was the shocked expression on Morgan Grimes' face.

"Chuck! Buddy!" Morgan continued, the initial shock of seeing his best friend after so long having faded.

Chuck instantly felt a sense of warmth inside just from hearing the familiar voice, but quickly chided himself for it. He really shouldn't be here. Morgan took a step closer to him and raised his arms in jubilation. "You're back!"

Chuck opened his mouth to say something, but the words just didn't come.

Morgan, however, didn't seem to have noticed and was now pointing his finger accusingly at Chuck. "I knew it! I knew you'd come back. I kept telling them. Charles Bartowski always comes home. I can't wait to tell everybody. Oh man, everyone has missed you so much, buddy. Have you seen Ellie yet, Chuck? C'mon, I'll call her right -"

"No, Morgan!" Chuck snapped, jumping up, seemingly having regained the use of his voice, forcing Morgan to take a step back. Ellie couldn't know he was here. Morgan shouldn't even know he was here. Chuck couldn't believe he had been so stupid; it was lunchtime and he knew some of BuyMore employees, including his best friend, liked to come here for lunch. He really needed to get out of here.

"What? Why not?" Morgan looked slightly aghast at Chuck's reaction. "She hasn't heard from you in like forever. Where have you been, anyway?"

Chuck let his eyes fall shut for a second. He had no idea how to answer that; for someone who was supposedly a good liar, he was completely stumped. "I've been... I've been away."

Morgan slowly shook head at Chuck's answer before his eyes suddenly brightened and he smiled. "It doesn't matter. We can talk about it later. Oh man, I've got so much to tell you. I've got a girlfriend now. She's really amazing..."

Chuck found himself reluctantly smiling as Morgan continued talking about his life. A life that he really seemed to be enjoying. He had to remind himself that he shouldn't be here. Every second he stood here talking to Morgan, the more danger he put his best friend in.

"...And I'm applying for the Assistant Manager position at the BuyMore. Harry Tang's finally gone and left. Couldn't take the trenches anymore, you know? I know the job's not much of a change and it only pays two dollars more an hour, but it's a start, right?"

"Yeah," Chuck said, forcing out a response, but Morgan wasn't quite done yet.

"Anyway, my interview's tomorrow and I was wondering if you'd help me prep. You know, practice questions and all?" Morgan asked, looking up at Chuck with hopeful eyes. It was the same expression that Morgan had given him all through high-school whenever he needed help with anything.

Chuck desperately wanted to say yes and help his best friend get the job that he so obviously wanted. But he couldn't. The agent part of his mind was telling him that he needed to end this now. There was only one way that came to mind. He hoped Morgan wouldn't hate him for this.

"Morgan," Chuck began, forcing himself to look into his eyes, barely managing to make his voice sound cold. "What's the point? Management requires responsibility, and what have you got to show for that? You're twenty-six and you still live with your mother. You stay up all night playing _Halo_ tournaments. You ride a bicycle to work. You're a child, Morgan."

The expression on Morgan's face had changed from a look of pleading to shear disbelief, and Chuck felt his heart sink. "Chuck..."

"I'm not going to waste time helping you prepare for a job which you obviously won't get." Chuck had to look away. "Grow up, Morgan Grimes."

With that, Chuck pushed past Morgan and started to move down the path away from his friend, unable to bear seeing his friend's crushed expression. He heard Morgan call out his name a couple of times, the anguish in his voice only making Chuck walk faster. However, the voice was stationary, suggesting that he'd either gotten the message or was too shocked by Chuck's sudden condescending outburst.

He continued down the path until he was sure Morgan was out of sight. He couldn't believe he'd just done that to his best friend. His best friend of over 20 years. His best friends who, at 8, had been there for him when his mother left. Why did he have to put his friend down like that? He could have just said he had to go...

No, Morgan would never have accepted that.

Remembering what had happened between him and Bryce at Stanford, Chuck knew only too well what is was for a friend to betray you like that. For a friend to not have belief or trust in you. It was horrible. But as horrible as what he had said to Morgan was, it had been necessary. It was necessary to protect Morgan, and the best way to do that was to put as much distance himself and Morgan as he could.

He needed to get out of Los Angeles. He didn't understand why they were still here. His Red Test had obviously been the reason for coming here, so why stick around after that?

Maybe this was his punishment. His punishment for Perry. If there was a god, maybe he was looking down on Chuck and laughing. Laughing at how tantalizingly close Chuck was to everything he loved, and yet so incredibly far. Trapped in a open version of purgatory, where the sun burns hot every day of the year.

Several glances of his shoulder told Chuck that he wasn't being followed. The winding path was entirely clear of the short midday shadows cast by the trees that ran either side of it. It might be slightly harder for him to evade Morgan. Despite everything he'd said to Morgan, Chuck knew his friend was persistent; it was unlikely that Morgan would give up over twenty years of friendship without a fight. He loved Morgan for that, and hated himself all the more.

Chuck carried on down the path and starting mentally planning a more evasive route back to the hotel, making sure to pass through some of the more crowded parts of the city. He couldn't let the mistake of what had just happened occur again.

It couldn't.

Charles Carmichael didn't have friends.

He couldn't afford them.

# # #

**11th May 2007**

**Sarah's Apartment, Washington D.C.**

**09:30 EST**

_Beep Beep Beep _

Something was beeping.

_Beep Beep Beep_

Something was beeping loudly.

_Beep Beep Beep_

That was really not a pleasant noise to be woken up by.

_Beep Beep Beep_

Especially if you've been awake most of the night trying to contemplate your boyfr – partner's actions.

_Beep Beep Beep._

Made worse if said contemplating was done over a drawn out bottle of wine.

_Beep Be-_

The beeping was abruptly silenced by a fist that came crashing down on whatever had been making that damn noise.

Sarah Walker really hated alarm clocks. Like, really hated them. She had been so much happier asleep. Albeit, it wasn't the most relaxing sleep she'd ever had. The alcohol had seen to that. But it was sleep all the same. Sleep where she didn't have to contend with a damn hangover. The mother of all hangovers, that currently felt like it was driving a monster truck through her head and was about to shatter through her cranium any minute now, leaving tiny little bits of skull all over the wall.

Yep, she really hated alarm clocks.

As simple as it had been to return the room to its previous state of tranquillity by destroying the thing, it was not going to be so simple to get rid of that monster truck. Why didn't the alarm clock realise that? Couldn't it see that she needed to sleep? Didn't the stupid thing recognise-

Sarah slowly pried her eyes open.

She didn't have an alarm clock. But she did have an alarm on her-

She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the early morning sunlight that was penetrating the blinds, and tilted her head just enough to see the remains of her cellphone. Her agency-issue encoded cellphone. The cellphone that was supposed to be on at all times. The screen was now completely wrecked and it looked like her fist had also taken out several of the buttons.

She spat out of flurry of expletives, alternating between Russian and Polish.

This really was not her morning.

After an extra long shower, downing several glasses of water and nearly maxing out on painkillers, Sarah was feeling slightly better. Her headache was still there, but it had faded considerably and was now just a dull throbbing. Whilst in the shower, it had come back to her that she'd set the alarm on her phone the previous day so that the she could get up early – on her day off – and go for a run. Needless to say, that plan had quickly gone to the dogs.

She was now lying comfortably on the couch, dressed casually in sweats, a pillow delicately balanced on her nose, blocking out the light. Hangovers were never normally a problem for her, as she was not much of a drinker. Still, when she did drink, she could normally hold her liquor. Carina had seen to that. Last night was an exception on both counts.

She hadn't much felt like eating after Bryce had left the previous day. After he had caught her completely off guard by his revelation about how much he cared about her. She couldn't understand why she was so surprised by what he had said, or why she was particularly bothered by it. Surely it was a given that he cared about her, with all that they had been through together. And they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

Sort of.

True, it was no "I love you", but he had never said anything like that before, and she had never said anything of the sort to him, either. She wasn't even sure how she felt about him at the moment. After everything. She'd never really been very good at this sort of thing. It was one of the few things she didn't excel in. That made her all the frustrated for being so infatuated with it.

And then there was everything Bryce had done to Chuck...

That had led to the wine. On the empty stomach.

And here she was.

# # #

**11th May, 2007**

**CIA Facility, Washington D.C.**

**11:37 EST**

Stepping into the small elevator, Sarah hit the button for the floor that the receptionist had indicated, "Sub-level 7 Portable Electronics". Having changed into a smart-enough shirt and suit pants, she'd taken the short drive to the small building that the Agency used to house field equipment in D.C. Even on her day off, she couldn't afford for her phone to be out of commission. Not for long anyway.

Having flashed her credentials at the guards, she'd made her way to the receptionist desk and politely inquired where she could find someone to fix her phone. The middle-aged receptionist hadn't been immediately forthcoming and had instead made some snide remark about the colour of her hair. That had really pissed her off. She was unbelievably glad that headache was almost entirely gone by this point. Though she was reluctant to admit it, Sarah knew she was probably one the most capable field agents in the CIA. What should her hair colour matter? Still, not wanting to rise to the bait, she had remained polite and repeated the question. Several seconds of glaring later, the receptionist had told her where to go.

_Some people just have too many problems with life_, she thought as the elevator passively descended, giving off a gentle hum. It was too bad she was one of them.

With a little ring, the elevator doors sprung open to reveal a large singular room with rectangular panel lights running linearly along the ceiling, which made everything in the room seem unnaturally bright. She stepped out the elevator, and was able to see right across to the other side of the room, which she guessed was about 100 feet away. Workbenches were scattered around the place, with all sorts of electronic devices strewn across them. There were phones, laptops, PDAs, watches and many more items that Sarah couldn't identify, all in various stages of dissection. Sub-level 7 really was true to its name.

Unfortunately, it looked like she was alone in the room, and she couldn't see any other doors.

The room was like a small warehouse, isolated from the world by 50 feet of concrete. She shuddered slightly, taking note of the lack of windows, which made her feel a bit claustrophobic. The bright lighting, combined with the lack of windows, probably made it feel it like time stood still in here. Sarah couldn't imagine the kind of people who'd want to work down here. Then again, the CIA probably didn't give said people a massive amount of choice.

"Hello?" she called out cautiously, her voice echoing around the large room.

There was a rustling from behind one of the benches to her right. "Yeah, just a sec."

She turned to see a small man stand up and casually drop a circuit board on the desk in front of him. He looked up to where her the voice had come from, noticing her by the elevator and began to close the distance between them. The man looked to be Asian in appearance and was in his mid-twenties, with short spiky hair. He was dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and grey tie. She had a feeling that this man might be able to help her.

As he neared Sarah, she could see that he was no more than five five and that she, in her heels, towered over him. He stopped a few feet in front of her and leaned against one of the benches.

"How can I help you?"

"I, err, need to get this fixed. " Sarah smiled and held up her phone. "Bit of an accident and the phone didn't fare too well."

The man gave a little laugh and reached out to take the phone from her. He looked over the phone, surveying the the broken screen. "Yeah, we get this a lot."

"Really?" Sarah asked, frowning.

The man laughed again. "More than you might think."

"Ah okay," she said, feeling slightly relieved. "So, um, can you fix it?"

"Yeah, that shouldn't be a problem," he answered, continuing to examine the phone. "Just got to replace the screen and the keypad. Can probably get it back to you by tomorrow."

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief; at least that was one of her problems taken care of. "Great. I'll swing by tomorrow to pick it up. Thanks a lot..."

"James," he said. "James Sato."

Sarah gave him another smile. "Well, thanks again, James Sato."

She started to turn to leave, when Sato held up his hand. "Wait a second. Can I ask you something?" His voice sounded suddenly more nervous.

She stopped.

"Are you Sarah Walker?"

"Yes," she answered, feeling slightly puzzled. She was normally good at remembering faces. "Yes, I am. Have we met before?"

"No, we haven't." Sato shook his head. "We, err, have a mutual friend."

"A mutual friend?" she said, the frown returning to her face.

"Yeah," Sato continued, hoisting himself up on the workbench, depositing her broken phone next to him. "Chuck Bartowski."

Sarah paused. He knew Chuck?

Sato seemed to pick up on her confusion. "I was in the class below him at Stanford. He and Bryce were actually the ones that recruited me. Met them in my freshman year. We were all in the electronics club. That was before I knew they were CIA." Sato sighed, suddenly looking very deflated. "Still can't believe Bryce got Chuck fired."

Sato knew _both _Chuck and Bryce? At Stanford? Judging from his reaction, he seemed equally as surprised as Sarah was that Bryce had sold Chuck out. Maybe that meant that Chuck and Bryce _were_ friends. Well, once.

Sarah realised that she was still frowning and immediately lightened her expression. Sato, however, seemed not to have noticed. "So you knew Chuck and Bryce back at Stanford?"

"Uh-huh," Sato said nodding, sounding eager to change the subject away from Chuck's dismissal.

"Were they friends back then?" she asked, not wanting to sound too pushy.

"Oh yeah," Sato said, smiling at the memory. "They were really good friends, used to do all sorts of stuff together. They were such nerds." He snorted at the last part.

"Chuck mentioned that something happened between them. At Stanford."

Sato's eyes shot up, his demeanour suddenly changed. "Oh, yeah. Right. I don't think it's really my place to say. I only heard the rumours and all."

"Please, James." Sarah took a step closer to him and he began to fidget with his hands. "I'm Bryce's partner. He got Chuck fired. I need to know."

Sato slowly nodded, his eyes returning to the floor. "End of their junior year, Bryce accused Chuck of cheating. Said that he found answer papers to a test in Chuck's dorm room. And that Chuck was selling copies."

_What? _That was ridiculous. From all that she had gathered about Chuck in the few days she had known him, he appeared to be an honest and truthful guy, if not a slightly subdued one. Definitely not the kind of guy to cheat. Many of her fellow CIA agents had been known to use duplicitous methods to advance their careers. She didn't think Chuck had been one of them.

"Anyway," Sato continued. "A committee was set-up to look into it, and it looked like they were gonna expel Chuck."

Sarah raised her eyebrows, but tried to keep an open mind.

"But Bryce stepped in at the last minute, said there had been some kind of mistake. That Chuck hadn't been cheating, and that it was all a giant misunderstanding. The committee dropped the charges after that and Chuck got off."

Sato paused to look up at Sarah as if to gauge what she thought, but she schooled her expression to be unreadable.

"But yeah, after that, you know, it was weird. I think Chuck forgave Bryce, eventually. But something was different between them, you know? I think Chuck had a lot of trouble trusting Bryce. To be honest, I don't blame him."

_Bryce tried to get Chuck kicked out of school? _Sarah's head was spinning. _But Chuck forgave Bryce?_

Now the dynamic between Chuck and Bryce made a little more sense. The awkward tension that seemed to linger between them. In the two years that she'd known him, Bryce had been anything but disloyal. Trying to get his friend kicked out school was completely unlike the Bryce Larkin she knew. Well, until yesterday.

# # #

**11th May, 2007**

**Sarah's Apartment, Washington D.C.**

**12:23 EST**

After saying farewell to Sato, she'd headed back to her apartment. Before leaving, he'd given a her another cell to use as a replacement until her own was fixed. Her number had been temporally transferred to the replacement, so she no longer had to worry about being out of contact. Her head was feeling clearer now, and she'd been able to take off sunglasses that she'd used on the ride over, making the drive back much more pleasant. She picked up a small pastry and skinny latte from the Italian café on the corner of her road, which she liked to visit whenever she was in town, before rounding on her apartment.

Mrs Wiltes' cats were nowhere in sight as Sarah passed through the hallway in her apartment building, and there was no-one hiding behind her refrigerator when she opened the door. She felt slightly relieved that Bryce hadn't decided to pay her a second visit, even though she knew there was only a slim chance he would. He would probably disappear off the face of the Earth, and then turn up a couple of days later acting as if nothing had happened.

She threw her purse down on the couch, the _Smith & Wesson _which she'dtucked carefully away inside making a slight clunking sound as she did, and pressed her palms together. Last night Bryce had refused to give her answers, well, at least credible ones, and now, with a somewhat ironic twist of fate, she was starting to get them. When Bryce next resurfaced, she was going to confront him about his actions at Stanford.

Did he frame Chuck for cheating? Or was it all a misunderstanding? If so, why would Bryce report him? Sure, it was over five years ago now, and they were both probably young and naïve back then, but Bryce should have told her about any potential animosity between them before they went on the Columbia mission. Not as his girlfriend – she really wasn't very fond of that label anyway– but as his partner. Maybe if Bryce and Chuck hadn't been partnered, things would have worked out differently. Still, it was hard to believe that either of them would let their feelings for each other jeopardise the mission.

Despite it probably violating Bryce's trust, and almost certainly being illegal, Sarah was starting to think that maybe she should look into their CIA files and see what they said about Chuck and Bryce's recruitment at Stanford. Perhaps then, Bryce's actions at the hearing would-

She was interrupted from her thoughts as she felt something slip beneath her feet. It was an envelope. Someone must have posted it under her door. She picked it up and turned it over. There was no address on the envelope nor a postmark. It simply read _Sarah_. The handwriting was eloquently joined and not immediately familiar to her. She really doubted the CIA would resort to these means to contact her, even if she did have a broken cellphone. Which only meant it could be personal...

She sat down on the couch and stared at the envelope for a couple of seconds for opening it. Inside was a single piece of paper, the writing the same as on the envelope.

_Sarah,_

_Came to say goodbye, but you weren't here. For the best really, I guess._

_I'm leaving. Not my choice, but you know how it is. _

_I regret things couldn't have been different._

_Maybe see you in another life._

_I'm sorry._

_Bryce._

Sarah re-read the letter twice more, and continued to stare at it for a while after before finally putting it down.

_Bryce was leaving?_

What the hell did that mean? Was he being reassigned? Why hadn't she been contacted? For not the first time in the past couple of days questions began to flood through Sarah's head, and she suddenly felt as if she was being excluded from something very important. She had half a mind to call up Graham right now and demand to know just what the hell-

Sarah took a deep breath, and allowed a moment to realise where she was.

That's when her rational mind kicked in. She worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. Agents were reassigned all the time. That was how the CIA worked. She was pretty high up as field agents go, but they by no means told her everything. There was no secret conspiracy against her. Bryce had probably just been assigned some classified mission.

Sarah kicked her shoes off and sunk back into the couch. She allowed it to swallow her up, and closed her eyes, only to see Bryce's words on the back of her eyelids.

_Maybe see you in another life._

_I'm sorry._

That really didn't sound like the Bryce she knew. But if the last couple of days had proved anything at all, that was hardly surprising.

# # #

**October 11th, 2007**

**Daniel Marks' Hotel Room, Los Angeles**

**22:57 PST**

Staring at the computer screen for so long was starting to make Chuck feel tired. He was sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard with his laptop perched across his knees, its heat causing him to sweat beneath his thick jeans. The endless lines of code that he had been tasked with analysing were starting to look like _Tron _lines. Though that could also be due to the half empty bottle of _Jim Beam _that sat on the small table by his bed. The dried blood from several nights before was still there.

Chuck wasn't really a fan of _Jim Beam, _but _Johnnie Walker _had lost its appeal to him. Besides, after the first glass, the taste didn't really matter as much. He probably should turn the lights on; focusing on the glaring screen in the dark probably wasn't doing his eyes good. The light traffic coming in through the window wasn't nearly as bright as he thought it would be. But he'd been staring at computer screens since before he could walk, and he doubted it was going to start giving him problems now.

If anything, it was the returning tiredness that was bothering him. The returning ongoing tiredness that belonged to the insomniac he'd become.

He'd been looking over the lines of codes for two hours now. Supposedly, they were recovered from a burnt out hard-drive found in a CIA black site, and related to the identity of the alleged Intersect agent. He couldn't make any sense of them. They were only fragments and none of them were complete.

Cooper had called him earlier and asked him to take a look over them and see if he could make anything of them. It was unlikely that he would. The Ring's top analysts had been working on it for weeks and had come up with nothing. But the Director had personally requested that he see if he could make heads or tails of it. Unfortunately, the Director was going to disappointed.

Chuck then felt something vibrate from under him. Maybe it was his conscience calling.

With a bit of effort, he pulled his Ring phone out from the back of his jeans and saw that he had a message:

_All operatives are advised to stay clear of Glendale, CA and immediate surrounding area tomorrow, between 12:00 PST and 21:00 PST._

Chuck frowned at the screen. _Stay clear of Glendale?_

That was odd. No-one had mentioned anything about this to him. He thought that all operatives were supposed to be laying low anyway. What was going on it Glendale? Was the Ring mounting some sort of operation?

Chuck hit the speed dial button on his phone.

When Cooper answered, he sounded grumpier than usual. "What is it, Carmichael?"

"What's going on in Glendale, tomorrow?" he said, trying to sound as sober as he could manage.

"That's need to know, Carmichael," Cooper sternly responded.

"Yeah? Well, I'm tired of sitting around," Chuck hit back, the anger in his voice sounding legitimate. "So tell me, what's going on?"

Pause.

Chuck gripped the phone and hoped that the other man had not hung up.

Finally Cooper spoke. "We were considering involving you in this op. But we figured you had too much of a conscience."

"Just tell me."

"A car bomb is going to explode somewhere in Glendale, tomorrow." Chuck eyes rounded as he said this, too perplexed to interrupt him. "Nothing too big. Just large enough to get noticed."

_Large enough to get noticed?_

That probably meant people were going to die.

"As in, car bomb explosion?" Chuck said feebly. "As in, bomb that kills people?"

"Yes." Perhaps surprisingly, Cooper's voice sounded anything but patronising, given his rather dumb statement.

"But why?" Chuck said with the strength he could muster. "We're patriots. Our war is with the government, not innocent civilians."

"It's an unfortunate necessity," Cooper answeredwith what Chuck could have sworn was a sigh.

"Since the new Congress was sworn in, attitudes towards the terrorist threat have been relaxing, while the threats to this nation's security are worse than ever. The Administration's become a joke and lacks the power to take the appropriate measures any more." Another pause. "This will open people's eyes."

"Yeah," Chuck added hoarsely. He really didn't give a damn about the politics of it all. Only one thing was his mind: he was going to be responsible for the death of civilians. Indirectly or not, it didn't matter.

"It'll save lives in the long term," Cooper continued. There was another final pause. "Good night, Carmichael."

As the line went dead, Chuck could only grip the phone tighter and hope that it would deliver him some kind of comfort.

Panic started to flow through him and he lacked the ability to control it. It was gripping at him like a vice and twisting at his conscience. Chuck knew the people he worked for were bad people. Very bad people. And that he was now one of them. But in all seriousness, he'd never thought that the people he worked for were insane. Killing civilians?

This plan was fucking insane.

Chuck suddenly become very conscious of his laptop, still on his knees, which felt like it was slowly burning a hole through his legs. Picking it up, he sat it down on the duvet next to him, taking away the searing heat coming from the laptop's battery.

He was about to reach for his half finished glass of whisky, when he noticed the little notification in the corner of the laptop saying he had a new email. Chuck pulled up his email and opened the message.

_Your payment for Raymond Perry has been processed._

_The sum of $5,000 has been transferred to your account._

Payment for Perry, he read again. Payment? Blood money, that's what it was. Blood money. Perry's life been reduced to five thousand measly dollars. Did some Ring accountant just sit in an office somewhere, calculating how much someone's life was worth?

Chuck couldn't really explain what came over him and happened next. It just did.

Rage. White hot rage.

Directed at no-one in particular.

White hot, ravenous rage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet.

And he was screaming.

He wasn't in control.

With his right hand, he grabbed the laptop off the bed, ripping out the power chord, and hurled it blindly against the window at the far end of the room.

It didn't go straight through. Instead, it impacted with a loud thud before crashing to the floor. Large cracks were spiralling outward from the point of impact.

Chuck stood there for a moment, just breathing. His legs weak.

And then he was lying on the floor. Curled up. Where no-one could see him.

And he began to do something that he hadn't done in what felt like an age.

Chuck Bartowski began to cry.

# # #

**A/N:**_I'm actually feeling really bad for Chuck; I feel like I'm bullying him... Oh well, things are going to get better for him...maybe. Probably. Eventually. After they get worse. Mwah hah hah hah. _

_The next couple of chapters are going to be very Sarah centric. She's gonna see some action and be the sexy __badass we all know and love. _

_Anyone who's noticed, I've reverted back to being really lazy and naming my chapters after songs._

Reviews only make me go faster. ;)


	5. The Longest Day, Part I: Recall

**A/N: **_Okay, so I feel I owe everyone an explanation as to why this chapter took SO long to post... It was actually finished a couple of weeks ago, then at the last minute I decided to change a few things, and after that my beta and I thought that it be best if it was split into two chapters. Both are a little short, but bleh. Chapter 6 will be posted soon. _

_Speaking of my beta... I'd like to say a huge thank you to _**_DanaPAH_**_ for all her suggestions and for tolerating my mistakes and annoying questions. Also, I liked to say thanks for everyone who's reviewed the previous chapters, particularly to _**_NMH _**_and _**_TSYldchild_**_, whose reviews always put a smile on my face._

**Chapter 5**

**The Longest Day **

**Part I: Recall**

**October 11th 2007**

**Directorate of National Intelligence, Washington D.C.**

**21:23 EST**

Langston Graham sighed and sunk back in his leather chair.

The meeting had not gone well.

The bottle of _Bushmills _sitting on the desk was looking really tempting right about now.

To have met like this was ridiculous. It should not have happened. Not here. Not in _his _office.

It could have potentially compromised the entire operation.

That was probably what Bryce Larkin had wanted. To compromise the operation. He had been against it from the start, but Graham had overruled him, and rightly so.

Graham had never liked Larkin. He was far too arrogant and never seemed to respect the authority of his office. Graham tolerated him for one reason: he got results. That was the only reason he hadn't been thrown from the CIA long ago.

But after tonight, Graham was starting to reconsider.

Screw it, he thought. He was having a drink.

He removed the cap from the bottle and let the golden liquid flow into a glass. It had really been a long day.

# # #

**October 12th 2007**

**Rome, Italy**

**09:15 CET**

"I really don't understand how you can drink that at this time in the morning," Sarah Walker said, looking across the table at her companion, wrinkling her nose with an expression of faint disgust. "Didn't you have enough last night?"

"Relax, Walker, we're not in the States anymore," Carina Miller replied with a grin, lifting the red straw to her lips so that she could take a sip from whatever eloquently coloured fruit cocktail she was drinking. "I'm just blending in; it's all part of the culture here."

Sarah tried and failed to suppress her own grin at her friend's nonchalant attitude. "If you say so."

Looking around, she noted that most of their fellow patrons did not share Carina's choice in beverage and had decided to go with her own shot of _caffé _instead. Blending in indeed.

She did, however, have to agree with Carina's assessment of the situation; they definitely weren't in Kansas anymore.

They were sitting in a small terraced café overlooking the centre of Rome, largely devoid of tourists. Sarah had a little rule whenever she was in Europe: eat and drink where the locals do. This hadn't anything to do with cover – both her and Carina lacked the dark Mediterranean complexion, anyway – but simply because the food – and the coffee - always tended to be better. With pastries for breakfast, the stuff 300 million Americans ate everyday called "food" just didn't compare. Europe really was genius.

The sun was already high in the sky, and their table umbrella was casting a neat little shadow which tightly encompassed the both of them. Just visible in the distance, the tourists were already out in force with their backpacks and baseball caps, queuing up for the Colosseum, undeterred by the heat.

Sarah didn't envy them.

"There is however, one thing I certainly did not get enough of last night," Carina said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Sarah craned her neck over to the next table, where Carina's gaze seemed to have fallen, to see two young Italian men not-so-subtly eyeing them. Sarah smirked and slowly shook her head, taking a sip of her own bitter drink.

Carina very slowly uncrossed her long legs so that she could lean forward on her elbows, and put on a innocent expression. "I wasn't talking about them," she said in a low, sultry voice.

Sarah sighed and felt her face going rapidly red, suddenly very conscious of the low-cut blouse she was wearing. "You really are persistent, aren't you?"

"And you really are stubborn," she shot back with a grin. "What I don't get though-" She paused mid-sentence to take another long sip of her drink, this time through the green straw. "-is why you were fine with it that one time back in-"

"Okay!" Sarah held up her hand to interrupt before Carina had yet _another_ chance to remind her of that infamous drunken encounter. "That was over five years ago!"

"And yet I still talk about it. You should take that as a compliment, Walker."

Sarah looked away in embarrassment, imagining that she must currently look like a sunburnt tomato. Although, given the location and the fairness of her skin, that could soon become a reality.

But Carina wasn't ready to give up yet. Her grin, which seemed to be permanently glued to her face, was doing all the talking for her. She really needed to stop being so reactive to Carina's teasing, as it only seemed to fuel on the fiery redhead.

"C'mon, Walker!" she said with a fake pout. "I promise you'll enjoy it."

Sarah fumbled around with her napkin, which had suddenly become very interesting.

After a couple of seconds, Carina's face began to turn to a more – and somewhat unfamiliar - sympathetic expression. "Still hung up on Bryce, huh?"

Sarah's eyes shot up.

Bryce.

It had been a while since she had heard that name.

She had not seen or heard from him since he had put that letter under her door all those months ago. After Bryce had left, she'd decided not to pursue Bryce and Chuck's history at Stanford, or what had _actually_ happened between the two of them, whether in Colombia or elsewhere. She genuinely did feel bad for Chuck losing his job and for what Bryce had done to him at the hearing, and it was with a ounce of guilt that she had decided to let the matter be. There really was nothing she could have done anyway. The blood had already been spilled.

About a month later, she'd been reassigned to a joint CIA-DEA task force, working in tandem with Carina. They'd mainly been based in Spain and Italy, working the European end of the South America – Africa – Europe smuggling route. Their orders had been to "get close" to the drug barons who imported narcotics in the Mediterranean and to gain information about their smuggling routes. This mainly involved getting invited to seemingly endless parties, drinking, snooping around mansions, drinking, the occasional knife fight, more drinking, and sunbathing. Oh, and more drinking. She could see why Carina had joined the DEA.

Whilst she, too, was enjoying this somewhat "vacation," it wasn't exactly for her. The CIA's angle was that the same smuggling routes could be being used in weapons trafficking, although, thus far, aside from some minor small arms, said weapons had not precipitated. She was sure that they were making a difference, working the drug angle alone, but it just wasn't the same. Even though missions with Carina were never boring, she missed the adrenaline that came with CIA missions. The missions with Bry-

"I'm not hung up on Bryce," she growled in defiance.

Carina arched an eyebrow sceptically. She wasn't buying it.

"Bryce is on special assignment," she lied, hoping Carina would not notice. "No contact in or out. It's just part of the job, Carina."

If anyone could tell if she was lying, it would be Carina. The woman could probably win the Nobel prize entitled "How-To-Tell-When-Sarah-Walker-Is-Lying." Well, technically speaking it wasn't a lie, as she didn't know where Bryce was. He could actually be on special assignment. Maybe.

"He still shouldn't have left you like that," she said quietly, her blank expression giving nothing away as to whether she believed Sarah or not. If Carina could tell she was lying, she wasn't going to let on.

Sometimes the woman opposite her had the tendency to act more like an older sister than a partner or a friend.

Sarah heard something flick from the under the table, that sounded disturbingly like a-

"The next time I see that asshole," Carina continued, her eyes narrowing to slits, as she pulled a switchblade out from under the table. "I really am going to teach him the meaning of the word pain. I'll start by introducing him to Mr-"

At the moment, right before Carina could detail every unpleasant thing she going to do to Bryce for leaving her, Sarah's phone rang.

Feeling as if a balloon had suddenly burst, Sarah quickly pulled the phone out of her bag. "I have to take this."

Trying to ignore how Carina had started to slice open a grapefruit with the switchblade, she stood up and walked over to an empty corner of the terrace.

Glancing down at the phone, she saw that it was a Langley number. That was odd, considering all of her orders were usually routed through the local sub-station. "Walker, secure."

"Agent Walker," came the monotonic voice that could only belong to a Langley switchboard operator. "Please hold for AD Skinnard."

There was a click and then a pause, before a tired voice said, "Agent Walker?"

William Skinnard had been the one Graham had assigned to directly oversee her training, and she had always liked him. He seemed to have more of human side to him than Graham, or even Sarah herself. That was probably why he had not advanced past an Assistant Director's position in 15 years.

But despite the prior relationship, for the Assistant Director to call her directly was...unusual. Even if Langley had decided to bypass to usual protocol, she still wouldn't expect a call from someone so high up in the chain of command.

"Yes, Assistant Director," she answered with a professionalism she felt this situation was lacking. "What can I do for you?"

"We have a bit of a situation over here." Skinnard really did sound tired, which, considering it was barely 3am on the east coast, wasn't all that surprising.

"What kind of situation?"

"I regret to have to tell you this, but at approximately 10pm last night, Director Graham was found dead in his office." He paused. "Preliminary findings indicated a heart attack."

Sarah swallowed.

Graham was dead. He had recruited her.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she responded, not sure how she was supposed to sound, or whether she really was sorry. Graham had been the one to put her father in jail, after all. "But I take it you didn't call me in Italy simply to let me know."

"No, Agent Walker, I didn't," he replied. Sarah could almost hear Skinnard's grim smile in his words. "Initial toxicology reports just came just back. They were positive for hydrogen cyanide. Graham was poisoned."

The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency had been murdered?

Well, assassinated was technically the correct term. It was hard to believe someone had managed to pull that off. The DNI was probably the most secure building in Washington after the White House. Despite Skinnard's dumbfounding news, her mouth seemed to be moving. "Cyanide's a fast reacting poison, sir. If the Director was found in his office, that's likely where he came into contact with the poison."

"That's the conclusion over here, too. Surveillance has someone leaving Graham's office approximately one hour before the body was discovered." Skinnard sighed, and it sounded like he was rubbing his eyes.

Sarah felt her brow tighten. "Sir, if you've got a suspect, why are you calling me?"

"Sarah, the man leaving Graham's office was Bryce Larkin."

_Bryce?_

That was twice she had heard that name today.

She was suddenly deaf to the background noise in the café, and only one thought occupied her mind.

"Agent Walker? Are you still-"

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?" she interrupted, formality be damned.

"I'm not implying anything, Sarah," he answered in a lighter tone. He called her "Sarah" again. "But the special agent in charge of the investigation certainly thinks it was Agent Larkin."

That was impossible.

"Who's the special agent in charge?" she asked.

"Daniel Shaw."

Sarah knew Shaw. He was very high up in the agency, having near complete free reign over what he did. She'd worked with him a few years back, when she was still a rookie. Sarah had to admire the ruthless efficiency with which he operated, if not for the lack of trust he'd shown in her and the rest of his team.

"Where's Bryce now?"

"We don't know. He slipped by the rest of the cameras. Shaw's already put a burn notice on him, OPR's probably going to launch its own investigation and the NSA is getting involved." Skinnard paused. "The way things seem to be moving, I wouldn't be surprised if there's a termination notice out by the end of the day. That's actually why I'm calling you."

Sarah's throat was suddenly dry. _A termination notice?_

"Sir?" she croaked, all the while trying to moisten her mouth with her tongue. Aside from the shock of a termination order being put out on Bryce, she was starting to feel defensive; surely Skinnard didn't think she knew where Bryce was? Didn't he trust her more than that?

"Sarah, you and I both know that Bryce didn't kill Graham. He's not a traitor, there's just no way. What's more, this situation is about to get very messy, very fast. Someone's pushing the hit on Bryce. The surveillance footage alone isn't enough to issue a termination notice."

In the periphery of her vision, Sarah could see that Carina was starting to eye her. She pulled the phone closer to her ear.

"What I'm about to ask you to do is not an order, but a request. I need you to find Bryce Larkin and discover what really happened, before it's too late."

Sarah frowned at the strange request, but at the same time breathed a silent sigh of relief that she hadn't been accused of working with Bryce. "Sir, with all due respect, do you have the authority to just recall me like this?"

"I guess I'll find out in the morning," Skinnard said with a muffled laugh. "I take it you accept then, Agent Walker?"

She didn't hesitate. "There's a flight leaving for Dulles at 1500, I'll be on it."

"Good," said Skinnard. "I must stress however, that your investigation is strictly off record. Something bigger is going here; everything is moving too fast. Report only to me."

Despite her loyalty to the agency, she knew that conducting an off-the-books investigation was tantamount to acting as a rogue agent, regardless of whether it had been authorised by a superior. That was one step away from treason.

Sarah clenched her jaw. "I understand."

"Check in with me when your flight arrives in Washington, and good luck, Agent Walker," he said, clicking the phone off.

Sarah stood there for a minute, phone still in hand, trying to process all that she had just learnt. The strong smell of coffee which dominated the little café had suddenly lost its appeal. She turned and walked quickly back over to her table and hovered behind her chair, not sitting down.

Carina, having finished cutting the grapefruit, was now slowly feeding it into her mouth. She looked up at Sarah, her expression having lost any sense of the earlier seriousness she had displayed. At any other time, Sarah would have welcomed this in her friend.

"I'm being recalled," Sarah said simply, breaking the silence.

Carina's mouth dropped open, letting several fragments of grapefruit fall out. "Oh! But we've barely had any-"

"Carina," Sarah interrupted, cutting short her fake whine.

Hearing the tone in which Sarah had addressed her, the professional was back in an instant, wiping the grapefruit away with a napkin. "What's going on?"

"I can't say," Sarah answered. "But I'm taking the 1500 flight back to Washington."

Carina gave a nod of silent understanding. Orders.

"Just do me a favour, okay?" Sarah asked. "Don't let me your superiors know for a couple of days."

"Fine," she said, nodding again after a slight hesitation. "I'll just have to come up with a _plausible _cover story as to why you won't be checking in." She winked on the word plausible.

Deciding to let Carina get away with her little taunt, she gave her a grim smile. "Thanks," she murmured, before turning to leave.

Carina was hardly big on giving hugs.

As she picked up her bag, she paused to turn back to her friend, who now looked considerably glummer.

"Just make sure I can reach you, okay? I might need your help."

# # #

**October 12th 2007**

**Sarah Walker's Apartment, Washington D.C.**

**22:23 EST**

The 1500 back from Rome to Dulles International had been commercial, with a flight time of a little over 9 hours, and despite being a qualified pilot, Sarah had never been a huge fan of flying. Unlike driving, there was nothing really to do except sit and wait for the plane to land (or crash); there was simply too much time to think.

By the end of the first hour, she'd already finished analysing the surveillance footage from outside Graham's office that Skinnard had sent over to the Rome sub-station, in addition to reviewing all of Bryce's files and known aliases. In retrospect, it had been a waste of time, and hadn't gotten her any closer to finding Bryce or what happened to Graham. The footage clearly showed Bryce Larkin entering and exiting Graham's office. There was no mistaking it. The combed back hair and slight swagger were recognisable anywhere. There was no immediate evidence that the footage had been tampered with, either, or that someone else could have entered the office. Despite her misgivings and faith in her former partner's loyalty, Bryce certainly looked guilty.

Bryce's personnel files had given no clue as to his location, only records of old missions, some of which, she'd been part of, and none of them seemed to have any link to the present situation. Furthermore, if Bryce knew the CIA was looking for him, he wouldn't be using any of his known aliases, anyway. He was too smart for that. Curiously, his records had come to an abrupt halt after the Colombia mission, and there was nothing to indicate what any of Bryce's recent activities might have been. Skinnard had included a note saying that these files hadn't been redacted, but that no-one had ever logged them. If such records did exist, which she doubted, Sarah had a contact that might be able to find them. That was a place to start. However, at 32,000 feet above the Atlantic, that contact had been unreachable, and so Sarah had been left with nothing to do. Besides think.

Think about the impending shit storm that she would find herself in the middle of once she landed. About how she was about to risk her career, the only thing she had every known and all that she was, to try and prove her ex-boyfrie - _dammit_, partner's innocence and catch her boss's killer. About why Skinnard had chosen to call her, hardly an impartial judge, to come and sort things out. About how, however much she tried, this situation was probably not going to end well for Bryce.

Or her.

There had simply been too much darn time to think.

It was fortunate that someone had chosen to assassinate the Director on one of the two days in the week when flights ran directly to Washington. Otherwise she would had to have caught a connecting flight from London, and that would have taken at least 15 hours total.

Yep, she'd thought whilst collapsing onto her bed, she really was sick.

She'd tried her contact when she landed, only to find that she was currently out of DC. She briefly considered heading over to Skinnard's office at the DNI, before deciding against it. She had nothing to report, and showing her face at the DNI when she was supposed to be in Italy was hardly the best idea.

Sarah had never been able to sleep on planes. There was something about being trapped in a pressurised, aluminium tube suspended in the air that made sleep hard to come by. She could sleep on planes when she was on missions, when she absolutely had to. But that was different. 18 hours awake was hardly a stretch for her, and she'd frequently done twice that, but she needed to be alert. So she'd caught a cab back to her apartment in order to get a few hours rest before deciding on her next move.

Her eyes had been closed for maybe two hours – not nearly a sufficient time, but enough to at least leave her feeling partially rejuvenated – when she found herself suddenly awake, staring at the wooden ceiling above.

Feeling momentarily dazed, she couldn't quite remember what had woken her.

It wasn't a dream. Even in the worst of circumstances, dreams didn't seem to plague her. Not any more, at least.

The apartment was entirely dark except for a small fluorescent digital clock in the kitchenette area.

She could hear the faint noise of the TV coming from the apartment upstairs. Some stupid procedural by the sounds of it. The light traffic outside was bringing in a small hum from outside her window.

No, none of these things were what had woken her.

It definitely had been something.

Oh, right. Something was scratching at the outside of her door. Angrily.

She'd been conscious for three seconds when instinct took over.

The drawer of the night-stand by her bed housed her spare _Smith & Wesson_ in addition to a silencer and several spare magazines. The one she carried on her person was all of 10 feet away with her discarded clothes.

Rolling out of bed, still in her tank top and underwear – she could worry about modesty later – she pulled the gun out of the drawer and screwed in the silencer, and crept across the apartment towards the scratching.

Seven seconds.

The apartment itself was a studio, with her bed at the far end, putting perhaps twenty feet between her and the door. The lounge/kitchenette took up the rest of the floor space and only the bathroom had its own room.

She pushed herself against the wall adjacent to the door and slowly slid towards it, safety off, nuzzle down.

She was seriously going to kill Bryce if this was him breaking into her apartment. Actually, scratch that, she'd feed him to Carina.

Fourteen seconds.

The scratching got more and more intense as she lined next to the door, until-

_Click._

The door swung open.

It wasn't Bryce.

In fact, it couldn't be further from him.

The man who was crouched in front of her door was bald and Latin American. Even from his crouched position, she could see that he was more overtly muscular than Bryce had ever been.

His gloved hands clutched at a lock pick, and there was a cold triumphant grin on his face, which hastily disappeared as he moved to stand up and noticed the silenced nuzzle of Sarah's _Smith & Wesson _aimed at his head.

"Breaking and entering is a felony, you know," she quipped, taking a step back. "Hands. Now."

He stood there for a second, his expression completely blank. Then...

"Oh, crap," he stammered in a west-coast accent, starting to raise trembling hands. "I must have...must have...got the wrong...the wrong apartment. I'm sorry...Please don't...Please."

"Don't. Move." The stern look she was giving almost made the weapon redundant.

"Please don't," he said, ignoring her warning and continuing to draw himself to his full height. "Please. I won't do it...Just let me-"

And then before she could flinch, he was on her.

The distance between them was gone in a blur.

His large wrists were gripping hers, grappling for control of the gun.

Momentum was on his side as he threw the full force of his weight behind him, but she was stronger than she looked and wasn't giving ground.

Sweaty fingers were trying to pry hers off the trigger-guard.

She raised her foot to try and stamp down on his knee, but he'd already anticipated that, using her change in balance to swing her round, back towards the door.

The gun went flying.

She crashed into the wall with a loud thud and collapsed to the ground in a crouch.

Pain was shearing through her left arm where it had impacted and her vision was starting to get-

_Shit._

Panic replaced pain and her eyes shot wide open as she looked for the fallen weapon.

It was lying several feet away. Right where her assailant was diving for.

Knowing that she wouldn't make it before he did, she did the only she could.

Attack.

She threw herself at the wall, using it as a springboard to propel forward. A near perfect jump kick landed her outstretched right leg squarely in the chest of her opponent, just as he reached the gun, sending him crashing backwards into a table.

The gun was in the air. Again.

She had it in her hand before she even landed.

Her opponent was slumped against the fallen over table, a nuzzle once again levelled at his head.

"Bitch..." he spat. All traces of the stammering west-coast accent gone, replaced by a more aggressive Mexican one.

"Don't. Move," she repeated again in the same tone. The only evidence of the altercation was a slight increase in breathing.

But he didn't listen. Again.

Over mumblings of pain, he started to grasp at his ankle, pulling at the hem of his jeans-

_Clip. Clip._

His eyes went wide.

She stood there for a second, letting the two red dots grow out of his black t-shirt, just breathing.

Thirty-three seconds.

She'd had more pleasant ways to be woken up.

Stepping forward, she crouched over the dead body to remove the concealed pistol from his ankle holster. This motion caused his body to slide down the floor.

As if on cue, it was at that moment her cellphone chose to ring.

"Walker," she answered, after crossing the apartment to get it. Her breathing was gradually returning to normal.

"It's Skinnard. There's been a development."

"Yeah, same here, sir," she said, heading back to the body and starting to search the pockets. "Someone just tried to break into my apartment."

"What? What happened? Are you all right?" Skinnard asked, the surprise in his voice causing it to jump an octave.

"I'm fine. He's not," she said simply, pulling a wallet out of the waist pocket. "Javier Cruz? Know him?"

"Hang on a sec..." Skinnard answered. She heard typing. "Sarah...He's a Ring operative out of Mexico. What the hell would he be doing breaking into your apartment."

"I'm not sure, sir," she said frowning. _The Ring?_ "Judging by his reaction though, he was surprised to see me here."

She discarded the wallet and began fumbling around for her own pair of jeans.

"You think he was looking for Bryce?"

"That would be my guess, sir. Everyone still thinks I'm in Europe. Plus I don't own a TV."

Skinnard didn't laugh. "Okay, I'll send a clean up crew to your place."

"Right," she said in acknowledgement. "You said there had been a development?"

Skinnard paused.

"Not over the phone," Skinnard's strained voice finally said. "Shaw's people are crawling all over the DNI, as well. Can you meet me at the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial in 30 minutes?"

"I'll be there, sir."

After hanging up, she paused to rub her shoulder. The pain had already faded considerably. That was probably the adrenaline.

Skinnard had sounded odd in the way which he had said "development." Very odd. Like the way people sound before they are about to deliver extremely bad news.

That couldn't be good. Could Shaw, or worse, the NSA, have already found Bryce? Was he dead? Had her whole trip been a waste?

She tucked away these questions as she shoved her gun into her waistband.

Meeting at night by the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, after someone breaks into my apartment, she thought to herself.

_How very Deepthroat._

_**A/N**: I was thinking about Pink Slip the other day and got really really angry. Particularly when Javier Cruz says to Chuck "and then you're gonna tell me about the girl." I hate it when people **** with Chuck and Sarah like that. So, I decided to let Sarah get her revenge. Hehe_


	6. The Longest Day, Part II: Revelations

**A/N: **_What? Why is that lazy slob posting so soon?_ _Ah, I'll tell you._ _This chapter was originally supposed to make up the second half of chapter 5, but my beta and I thought it would be better split up. Hence it is a little shorter. We are still having a little hiatus from Chuck's shenanigans at the moment and, once again, this chapter is solely Sarah. Rest assured, however, our favourite beleaguered spy and possible Ring agent will be back next chapter. Hehe. Also, my sister and I, had a massive marathon of certain tv show at the time I was writing this. See if you can guess what show it was. I really am less than subtle at times._

_Thanks go out to everyone who's reviewed/favourited etc the previous chapters. I really enjoy getting feedback. And, of course, to _**_DanaPAH_**_, for betaing this chapter and making tonnes of helpful suggestions._

**Chapter 6**

**The Longest Day**

**Part II: Revelations**

**October 12th 2007**

**Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Washington D.C.**

**22:51 EST**

Sarah pulled her overcoat tighter around her chest as she sat by the memorial waiting for Skinnard to arrive. In spite of having just come back from the Mediterranean, Washington still felt unusually cold for this time of year. Stars were dotted above, mapping out the clear night sky and the moonlight was casting a long shadow of the Lincoln Memorial over its pool. The cold weather, acting as a meaningful deterrent, meant that very few people were about at this time, save for the rare, courageous jogger.

The roads had been quiet on the way over. Still, she'd asked the cab driver to take a longer route, just to make sure that no-one was following her. Despite doubting that to be the case, after what had just happened in her apartment, she wasn't taking any chances.

Even with the added distance, the cab had still managed to drop her off at Constitution Avenue a couple of minutes early and she now was sitting alone on a bench by the memorial, facing away from the names of a thousand dead. Her breathing was the only thing to break to silence.

A voice called out in the dark.

"Agent Walker." She turned to see AD Skinnard briskly walking towards her. His unbuttoned overcoat, grey to her black, was fluttering in the wind as he walked, giving the impression that he was moving much faster than he actually was.

Skinnard himself was of slender build, slighter taller than Sarah herself, and bald. She guessed that he was in his early fifties, the mark indenting his ring finger evidence of his recent and not-so-quiet divorce.

Sarah rose, keeping her hands in pockets, and nodded. "Assistant Director."

She noticed the bags under his eyes as he sat down on the bench, before doing the same herself.

"You're all right then, I take it?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"Yes, sir, a little bruised, but otherwise unscathed," she swiftly answered. Her well-being wasn't exactly the foremost concern right now.

"And the Ring agent, did you manage to-"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "There was no time. Nothing on his person to indicate why he was trying to break into my apartment, either."

Skinnard grimaced. "Damn. Well, maybe forensics will find something."

Sarah nodded bleakly. Most Ring operatives were trained to resist interrogation anyway and she doubted Cruz would have been stupid enough to leave something for forensics to find.

"The strange thing is," Skinnard continued, "our intel indicates Cruz is supposed to still be in Mexico. If you're right about him looking for Bryce, and the Ring are connected to all this somehow, then we may have bigger problems than we originally thought."

Bigger problems was an understatement, she thought to herself. If there was one thing that could top the CIA director being taken out by one of their own, it was the idea that some barely known quasi-government faction had done it instead. Holy hell must be running loose at the CIA right now.

"What does Shaw think about that?"

"I haven't told him yet," Skinnard said, looking away. "That would involve explaining your presence here. I'm going to sit on it for a few hours – Which reminds me, everything was fine getting out of Italy?"

"There weren't any problems," she answered. "I flew commercial under an, erm, unofficial alias, and Agent Miller won't report that I've left to her superiors for a couple of days."

"Good." He nodded, staring out at the water. "A lot of people aren't going to be very happy if they find out I've recalled you like this."

"Sir, if I may ask," she began, needing to get this out of the way before they went any further. "Why _have_ you recalled melike this? If you believe Bryce is somehow being set up to take the fall for Graham's assassination, wouldn't it be easier to get someone in who didn't used to be Bryce's partner? I could be working with him for all you know. I'm not exactly a Ring expert, either."

Skinnard actually smiled, which made her feel strangely uncomfortable. The older man had never been shy of saying what he thought, and tonight seemed to be no exception. "Sarah, your experience as Bryce's partner is exactly _why_ you're suited for this. You know how he works. You know how he thinks."

Sarah felt the need to blush, but her face remained impassive as ever.

"As to you working with Bryce," Skinnard continued, shaking his head from side to side. "I doubt that's the case. It's a gamble on my part, true. But Bryce has been out of contact for months, and you've been in Europe. I know I can rely on you, Sarah. Call it a hunch."

In spite of liking the man, and genuinely believing him to be a decent person, Sarah still couldn't understand his angle.

"Is that why you think Bryce is innocent, sir? A Hunch?"

Skinnard scratched his nose. "Back when I worked at the Bureau, there was this agent who worked under me. Very smart, had a psychology degree from Oxford. He used to work on a lot of weird cases, usually going on just hunches alone. Perhaps surprisingly, he actually managed to solve a lot of them. So, in answer to your question Agent Walker: Yes, it is a hunch. But its also a matter of trust. I've known both you and Agent Larkin for over 10 years now; I know you're not traitors. Plus, a Ring operative just tried to brake into your apartment."

Sarah looked at the ground, feeling as if she were five years old. She sometimes wished people wouldn't trust her so much. Trust always seem to get people killed around her.

"How's Shaw's investigation coming along?" she inquired, wanting to change the subject away from her stupid personal issues.

"They're still analysing the scene, looking for any indication as to where Bryce might be. They've set-up highway patrols and locked down the airports and train stations. But that's just a formality, everyone knows Bryce is long gone."

She shook her head in agreement. "So basically, they're nowhere?"

Skinnard gave a brief shrug in acknowledgement. "They've got to at least look like they're doing something."

He let out a long sigh. "It's only been a day, and its already turning into a bureaucratic nightmare. Shaw's currently embroiled in a territorial dispute with OPR, and the NSA aren't helping matters. And until the White House confirms the Deputy Director as Graham's interim replacement, it's going to continue."

Sarah rolled her eyes. She was no fan of bureaucrats, and the fact that the investigation was solely focused on Bryce and not the Ring wasn't helping matters. Then again, the sole Ring connection was pretty flimsy, whereas Bryce was on tape leaving the scene. Hell, barely anyone had even _heard_ of The Ring anyway, let alone understand their agenda. She only knew the faintest of details herself.

"You said there'd been a development, sir?" she inquired, remembering that Skinnard had been the one to call this meeting.

Skinnard nodded and carefully removed his half-rimmed glasses. "Four hours ago, a car bomb exploded outside of Hahamongna Watershed Park in Glendale, California."

"Casualties?" she asked, all other thoughts quickly pushed to the back of her mind.

"None, besides the driver." Skinnard shook his head again. "The bomb detonated in a pretty remote area. A couple of drivers reported seeing the vehicle in question speeding away from them before they heard an explosion.

"They didn't see the explosion?"

"No, it occurred several hundred feet behind them. They're being told it was a problem with the fuel tank, although I doubt that will stick for long with the media."

Sarah frowned. "I don't mean to sound callous sir, but why are looking into this? Isn't this a matter for the Feds?

"Normally, yes. It would be." She noticed that Skinnard had started to fiddle with his glasses "While the body is almost unrecognisable, forensic teams have recovered a partial driver license that miraculously managed to survive the blast. One that belonged to one of our people."

"Who's the driver?"

Skinnard didn't seem to want to hold her gaze and kept glancing down at his glasses. "Charles Bartowski, alias Charles Carmichael."

Sarah froze.

Chuck was dead. Chuck, both the analyst and the field agent, was dead. Chuck, who had been Bryce's friend at Stanford, was dead. Chuck, who Bryce in return had gotten kicked out of the CIA, whilst she had stood idly by, was dead. Chuck, that sweet-talking, kind-eyed, innocent man who had made her feel so-

"Agent Walker?" Hello, reality.

Skinnard was staring at her.

God, her eyes were itchy.

_Say something, dammit._

"And you think this is connected to Graham's murder?" Yes, that was a good question.

"Given the proximity of the two events, and Agent Larkin's connection to Charles Bartowski, it seems too unlikely to be a coincidence."

"Any indication as to why Chu – Er, Bartowski was targeted?" Saying the name aloud sounded strangely foreign. She wished her eyes would stop itching. She wasn't going to rub them.

Skinnard's mouth twitched slightly, and he leaned back on the bench. "The strange thing is, it doesn't look like your typical car bomb for assassination. It was on a timer, and they'd be no guarantee Bartowski would have been in the car at the time of detonation." Skinnard looked up at her from under thick brows.

If Chuck hadn't be targeted, then was Skinnard suggesting that-

"It may have been a case of domestic terrorism gone wrong. Now that we know the Ring are involved, we can't rule anything out."

"Charles Bartowski isn't a terrorist," she calmly stated. "Or a member of the Ring."

Skinnard seemed unfazed, but cocked an eyebrow sceptically at her. "We don't yet know enough to pass judgement.

Sarah realised she'd been letting her emotions control her, the shock of Chuck's death still fresh. Skinnard needed her to be calm and collected. She needed to be a spy.

Even so, the idea that Charles Please-Call-Me-Chuck Bartowski was some kind of terrorist – or part of the Ring – was ridiculous. She'd even been surprised when Bryce had told her he was a field agent. Those eyes lacked the cold emptiness that she was sure her own had grown to possess. It was just bullshit.

Then again, less than 24-hours ago, Bryce Larkin has supposedly assassinated Graham.

Bullshit or not, she knew what her next mission was going to be.

She rose and gave a quick nod to Skinnard. "I'll head out to California then. Track Bartowski's movements. Maybe it'll lead us to Larkin."

"I've alerted local FBI that you're coming," Skinnard said. "Let me know what you find."

"I will do, sir."

"The FBI think you're there in an advisory capacity only," he said, quickly glancing behind him. "So stay under the radar. The NSA are already sending Casey out there, and it won't be long before Shaw finds out and sends someone, too."

Casey was a by-the-book burnout. He could really make things difficult for her.

She stood up to leave as Skinnard spoke again. "Oh, and Sarah, I am sorry about Bartowski. I know that you worked with him"

Facing away from him, Sarah let her eyes fall shut for a second, closing them to a world where Chuck wasn't dead and Bryce wasn't on the run. She didn't need this right now.

The air temperature felt as if it had plummeted ten degrees.

Getting involved with Bryce had been a mistake, she knew that now. It had made her vulnerable. Emotions weren't something she could deal with.

She opened her eyes

Sarah Walker didn't have emotions.

"Thank you, sir," she quietly muttered, before beginning the walk back towards the road, back into the world where Chuck was dead and Bryce was a traitor. "But we really weren't all that close."

Her eyes were still itching.

# # #

**October 12th 2007**

**Hahamongna Watershed Park, Glendale, California**

**23:57 PST**

The flashing lights from all the Federal, State and local law enforcement vehicles were illuminating the tall trees that stood either side of the long road. Despite the lateness of the hour, the scene of the car bombing was still abuzz with activity. Amidst the parking lot that formed from the assortment of official vehicles, it had been a struggle to find a spot for the rental she was driving.

She'd managed to get a call off to her contact just after touching down in Bob Hope airport. This woman had, until recently, worked as a systems and data analyst for the government. She had stepped back in order to take care of her young family, but still did the occasional bit of freelance work. Sarah had asked to her to see if there was any electronic traces of Bryce's post-Colombia records. She'd also requested that she run a facial scan through any networked surveillance cameras in the LA county area, in an effort to find out where Chuck and Bryce had been. It was a place to start.

After showing her identification to the LAPD officer at the crime scene tape, who had clearly been baffled to see a CIA agent show up in the middle of the night, she continued on towards where all the activity was centred. The rejuvenating effects of her brief nap in her apartment had worn off on the flight over. The ever westward journey she seemed to be taking was making this day drag on and on. Three time zones in one day wasn't a record for her, but it was taking its toll. Jet-lag really was a bitch. The California climate, however, made for a welcome return. The circumstances didn't.

For her, it had been the 12th of October for almost 36 hours now, and she just wanted it to end. But she wasn't going to let it. Not yet. Not with so many unanswered questions.

Skid marks ran along the road leading to the burnt out wreck, the remains of which had once been a car. All four doors had been blown off and the disjointed remains of wheels were scattered around the place. Where had once been tarmac, there was now a sizeable crater burnt into the road, on which the car remains loosely sat. Trees immediately surrounding the wreckage were blackened and had been bent backwards by the force of the blast. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and flesh scorched the air and inflamed her nostrils. It was almost enough to make her turn around and run. Almost.

No-one should have to die this way. No-one.

The Agency maxim was that it was part of the job, all part of the risk and service to one's country. It was hard enough to accept that this frequently happened to colleagues in her line of work. But for Chuck to have died this way... Chuck had left the Agency, left the life of risk and carnage and death behind. Correction: he hadn't left, he had been forced to leave. On her watch. This shouldn't have happened to him. Sarah couldn't help but picture the look of terror in those perfectly innocent eyes when he must have realised what was happening to him. The only solace she could take was that it would have been quick.

Every part of her brain was screaming that there was no way he could have intentionally been part of this. Her assessment of that being bullshit was still running strong. There had just been something different about Chuck. He wasn't a terrorist.

As she got closer to the scene, she could identify the Federal agents, with the letters "FBI" brazenly embroidered on the back of their wind-breakers, scurrying around like worker ants, each with their own designated task at hand. LAPD officers were watching from the sidelines, with either looks of fatigue or resentment towards their Federal counterparts that they had been relegated to guard duty. Around the wreckage, men in white overalls were still examining the car, which she could now see was turned at a ninety degree angle to the road.

Sarah stopped for a second, wondering if the explosion could have turned the car that way. It seemed unlikely. She frowned, before continuing over the stationary FBI agent in the baseball cap who looked like he was in charge. He was looking down at a clipboard. This was the queen ant.

"Excuse me?" She held up her badge. "Sarah Walker, CIA. AD Skinnard said you were expecting me."

The man looked up from his clipboard and glanced at her badge before his turning eyes to her, which lingered for perhaps a second longer than necessary. Sarah could already tell he was a bureaucrat.

"Ah, Agent Walker," he said. "Yes. I wasn't expecting you so soon."

She tilted her head and gave a half smile. "I came straight from the airport."

The man raised an eyebrow slightly before glancing back down at his clipboard. "You wouldn't prefer to check into your hotel first?"

Sarah let out a silent sigh; she knew she must look tired and was currently going out of her way to avoid mirrors, but she could see past this man's fake concern for her well being. She didn't have time for territorial pissings.

"Look, Agent..." she said, letting her mouth hang open slightly.

Agent bureaucrat looked abruptly up from his clipboard. "Robertson."

She allowed her head to bounce a little in acknowledgement. "Agent Robertson," she continued. "I'd really appreciate it if you could just tell me what you've found. I'm not here to impose on your turf. Just to look around."

Agent bureaucrat-Robertson considered it for a moment before letting the clipboard fall to his side, and began to slowly walk around the crime scene, gesturing for her to follow.

"Preliminary indication from the skid marks on the road, and witness testimony, suggest the vehicle was travelling at least 70 prior to the explosion before the driver began to slow down."

The driver. He meant Chuck.

"The driver then attempted a handbrake turn, hence the position of the car," Robertson continued to recite, all the while circling the wreckage with Sarah in tow. "From the location that the, err, body was found in, it looks like he tried to exit the vehicle before the bomb exploded."

"Wait," Sarah interjected. "If the driver slowed down and attempted to jump out, it suggests he knew the car was about to explode. That doesn't make any sense."

Robertson shrugged before nodding. "It is a little strange."

From the corner of her eye, Sarah could see a dark _Sedan _pull up in the distance. A tall, bulky man dressed entirely in black stepped out. Great, Sarah thought, John Casey and the NSA were here.

"What can you tell me about the bomb?" she asked, all the while watching Casey in the periphery of her vision, who had begun to silently edge around the scene, speaking only when asked to show his ID.

"Several pounds of C4 attached to the underside of the car. Set on a timer. Rigged with anti-tampering devices. It's just lucky it exploded out here."

She wanted to say that it may be more than luck, but didn't. Instead, she asked, "How did the driving license survive the explosion?"

Robertson looked as if he'd just remembered something very important and was pleased with himself for doing so. Bravo, she thought, remind me to give you a cookie later.

"I was equally surprised at first. Never seen anything like it. But the arson experts say it's not all that uncommon for certain compartmentalised areas to be shielded from the explosion, the glove box, the trunk, under a seat..." He trailed off.

Sarah raised an eyebrow sceptically. "The driving license wasn't found on the body then?"

"No," Robertson answered. "Everything on the body was burnt beyond recognition. We're going to have to run a dental analysis to confirm that it is your man."

"Now, Agent Walker," he said brusquely, raising his clipboard again. "I'm needed elsewhere."

"Of course," she responded politely. "Thank you for your time." _Enjoy your clipboard._

He grunted in acknowledgement and started to move away.

Sarah turned her attention back to Casey now. She was sure that he had noticed her and was doing his best to conceal it. No doubt he'd be on the phone to his superiors soon to inform them of her presence.

Her phone started to vibrate in her pocket. It was her contact.

"Walker," she answered.

"Okay Sarah," her contact said, sounding harried. "I haven't been able to find the files you requested, so either they were never entered into the record, or they're on top level Agency severs which I don't have access to."

Sarah felt her mouth twitch. That wasn't good. "Can't you get into them some _other _way?" she asked.

"Maaaaybe," her contact replied. "It's gonna be a bitch to hack into."

"Okay," Sarah said, reluctantly accepting that it might be several more days before she found out where Bryce had been for the past months, if ever. "And the other thing?"

"That, I did find something," she said, sounding pleased. "But I don't think you're gonna like it."

"Dammit, Chloe, Just tell me."

"Yeah, I forgot. Straight to business and all with you," she replied rather acrimoniously. Right now, Sarah couldn't care less. "Agent Larkin didn't show up on any camera in either LA or DC, no luck there. But, a CalTrans camera did pick up a man with an 83% match to Charles Bartowski at a small transformer station near the port of Los Angeles, two days ago."

"Go on," Sarah said, her curiosity rising.

"The thing is, it was cut off from the power grid after the blackout in 2005. It still consumes a lot of power though. I've traced back county records, and the station was bought after the blackout by a company called McTeirnan Industries. Have you heard of them?"

The name didn't ring a bell. "Should I have?"

"Sarah," Chloe said, serious as ever. "While there's never been any evidence to prove it, the CIA has always believed that they're a subsidiary of The Ring."

_Chuck had been at a Ring base?_

That was not the hurricane thunderclap she was expecting.

# # #

**A/N:** _OMGOMGOMG! Did I just kill Chuck. Eh, would kinda make the title of this story suck a little._


	7. Nice to Meet You, Sarah, Sarah Walker

**A/N:** _I bet no-one was expecting an update so soon. I'll be honest, neither was I. It's only been what, 6 days? You can thank_ **Dana**, _she basically beta'd this whole chapter for me in a few hours, which I am very grateful for. So, thanks _**Dana**_! Which reminds me, if you haven't already, you should all check out her new story, _**Mary and Chuck vs the Ties That Bind.** _It's really very good. And Mary is actually likeable in it. Also, I'd like to give a quick shout-out to_** NMH**_, who correctly picked up on all the 24 references I was dropping in the previous chapters. _

_And for everyone with Twitter, remember to tweet #Chuck on Monday to get it trending during the episode. _

**Chapter 7**

**Nice to Meet You, Sarah, Sarah Walker**

**13th October 2007**

**Industrial Park, Port of Los Angeles, CA**

**02:23 PST**

Aside from a large security light aggressively blasting light in all directions, the single-story building across the street looked to be entirely devoid of activity.

Sarah hadn't seen anyone go in or out of the small power station in the hour or so that she'd been parked there watching it, the lack of street lights concealing her position to all but the keenest of observers. And why would they? Even if the building was some sort of Ring base, it was still the middle of the night and even bad guys had to sleep, right?

The only way in or out was the single door she was currently staring at. Any other way was impossible thanks to the windowless walls. Still, as she had yet to see another person in the derelict industrial area that surrounded the plant, it should have been relatively easy to break in and have a look around, if it wasn't for that damn security light. She'd canvassed the area upon arrival and the same lights were repeated on all four sides of the concrete building. Her main problem was that the lights made it difficult to identify whether there were any cameras on the building and, if this really was a Ring base, sounding the alarm really wasn't the best idea.

She sighed and shifted in her seat slightly. This was going to be difficult.

The black coffee tucked away in the drinks holster between the seats had long since gone cold. Just as well probably - more caffeine wasn't going to help her focus. Her stiff muscles were aching from sitting in the same position for so long, with her legs set on the car floor and her hands on the ten and two position on the wheel. She'd decided long ago that sitting still for this long was unnatural for her, an annoyance usually reserved for flying and mission briefings.

But a stake-out was a stake-out. Putting the seat back would have made things a lot more comfortable for her. Unfortunately, it would probably also send her one step closer to the sleep that she was starting to crave. The ache in her muscles did have its benefits, however. It kept her alert. Maybe she should put some music on, if only break the silent monotony. Actually, that was probably a bad idea; she needed to stay focused on watching the power station, not on listening to the lyrics of the -

She threw her head back against the seat and groaned when she realised that she couldn't actually name a single band. Even Bryce could do that.

This stake-out had the potential to run into an extremely long night. She'd yet to decide how long she was going to stay here. It was her only lead, after all.

Whatever the hell Chuck had been doing here was anyone's guess. Her normally cool and analytical mind was having trouble processing it all. Trying to keep some sort of grasp on objectivity had been hard when she had just been dealing with Bryce's supposed treachery, but now with Chuck's death and apparent Ring involvement, that was becoming next to impossible.

She couldn't understand why Chuck's death was bothering her so much. She had only actually met the guy for a few days, after all. Was it some misplaced sense of loyalty after what Bryce had done to him? Or perhaps it was guilt that she hadn't done more to fight Chuck's case, and that now that he was dead the least she could do was defend his memory.

And now, at least in the eyes of the government, he had joined her other former partner as a traitor.

Sarah felt her jaw clench even tighter as she tried to shut out these questions.

Maybe she should just screw protocol and storm the Ring base, guns blazing. It really was hard to justify sticking to protocol considering that she wasn't even supposed to be here. She could close the distance between her car and the building in twenty seconds. The door looked pretty old; two shots from her _S&W _couldtake care of the handle and one strong kick should be enough to -

Oh.

Apparently that wasn't going to be necessary.

Because someone's need for a cigarette couldn't be contained any longer.

The man who exited the building had to try several times before he successfully managed to light up, his frustration growing ever more apparent with every attempt.

Here's where the fun begins, she thought to herself as she stepped out of her car, the sudden movement doing wonders to her legs as the blood started to rush back through them.

As she casually crossed the road towards the man, and into the realm of the security lights, his features came into focus. The first thing that she noticed was that he was massive, well over six feet and perhaps twice or three times her weight. He was wearing a thick leather jacket – really not necessary in the LA climate - and kept a neatly trimmed goatee with a shaven head. He looked more like a professional wrestler than a power station/Ring security guard. She approached with caution, hands at her sides so as not to appear threatening.

He didn't see her coming until she was within a few feet of him. She wasn't sure whether his look of surprise was simply due to her presence there, or because he hadn't heard her coming.

"Hi," she said simply, giving him a small smile in the process, continuing to close the distance between them.

He frowned in response, the cigarette drooping slightly in his mouth.

She stopped and waved a hand casually back in the direction that she'd come. "I live down the street," she explained, doing her best to imitate Carina's "sweet-and-innocent" voice, "and I'm having a little trouble with the power."

"Power?" he asked, removing the cigarette from his mouth. As he did so, the hem of his jacket was pulled back, revealing a _Desert Eagle._ That was hardly the typical weapon of choice for a security guard.

"Uh-huh." She nodded. "And I was wondering if you guys here would be able to fix it?"

Her eyes flickered towards the building and now that she was closer, she could see that there weren't in fact any cameras. Gotcha.

"Fix it?" he responded, sounding stumped. "Lady, you're gonna have to go some place – Hang on, wait a sec, there aren't any houses around here."

He suddenly dropped the cigarette and started to reach for his waist.

_Now,_ a tiny voice inside her head said.

Leaping into a sprint, she charged towards him and, pivoting on her left heel, swung her right leg high. The roundhouse kick smashed into his face with a loud _thud, _the transferred momentum causing him to spin backwards before he went crashing to the ground.

She stepped forward to pick up the gun which he had, in fact, just managed to draw, removing it from the newly unconscious body. "Smackdown," she muttered.

After stubbing out the man's cigarette, she crept up to the door of the building, which had been left ajar, and pressed herself against the wall next to it. It was unlikely that there was anyone else by the entrance,as no-one had intervened to help Captain Wrestler over there, but she'd learnt a long time ago that, in her line of work, nine lives was far too few and arrogance had its price.

Peering into the building, she could see that the door led into a small lobby area. Its sole occupants were a few stray chairs, strewn casually about in front of an old, worn-down reception desk. The only other exit was a door at the back of the room, which looked like it had been recently replaced.

Sarah slid into the room, drawing her _S&W_ as she did so.

It was much darker inside without the security lights - lighting the lobby wasn't apparently a priority - and it smelled heavily of damp. Carefully navigating the chairs, she silently crossed the room to the other door which, although being closed, was thankfully unbolted. Allowing herself a small smile at the desperate dependency some people had on nicotine, she reached out for the handle and pulled the door open.

The cool air that rapidly came pouring through the doorway caused her to recoil slightly. No wonder her unconscious friend outside had been wearing that thick leather jacket – it was freezing in there! And, looking through, she could see why.

Hard-drives.

Loads of them.

Consciously trying to avoid shivering and letting her _S&W_ guide her, she stepped through to get a clearer view. It was one massive room - unlike the lobby, completely refurbished - divided into corridors and corridors of towers of hard-drives, all of which were giving off a gentle hum. They were all stacked into glass cases and given the size of the room, she estimated that they must be in the hundreds. Giant air conditioning units ran along the ceiling, maintaining the cool temperature.

Okay, The Ring were definitely _not_ using this place as a power station.

Two thoughts came to her at that moment. The first was that she knew Chuck had been an electronic engineering major at Stanford. The second was that The Ring had gone to massive efforts to conceal this place, so much so that they had avoided using cameras on the outside of the building and maintained its outer worn-down shell. If this place was what she thought it was, that could only mean that -

Two shots fired in quick succession suddenly flew past her head, abruptly cutting off her trail of thoughts.

_Shit, _she silently cursed as instinct took over and she dove towards the nearest corridor of hard-drives, away from the direction of gunfire. Rolling up into a crouch, she gripped the gun with both hands and took cover against the hard-drive casing. Where the hell had he come from?

She could hear steps now, around ten feet away and getting closer. The "walls" were at least six feet high, so her attacker would have to come to the end of one of the corridors to get a clean shot.

Moving back to the the end of corridor, she let her attacker approach. Listening to his steps, she counted. _One. Two. Three -_

Swinging her weapon round the corner, she unleashed a blind hailstorm of fire where the steps had come from.

_Four._

She heard a body slump to the ground.

Still gripping the gun, she stood up and stepped round to see a body spread-eagled across the white floor. The pooling blood had already reached the nearest hard-drive. This one was a lot smaller than the man outside, but was still wearing a similar jacket. It didn't quite fit him.

She ejected her near empty magazine and replaced it with a clean one, and then begun to sweep the rest of the room. She didn't want any more surprises. She hated surprises.

The rest of the room was clean. No-one but her and the hard-drives. Now, it was time to find out what the hell this place was...

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small USB cable that would connect to her cellphone. Hopefully, she should be able to download at least some of the data on the hard-drives. Looking around for the nearest USB port, she crouched and began to -

Wait.

Did that sound like a -

"Dammit!" she cursed, out loud this time, before sprinting out of the room, back into the lobby, past all the chairs, through the door, out into the street, just in the time to see -

Her car speeding away.

Captain Wrestler's body was also gone.

How the hell had he managed to – She'd been in the building five minutes, tops. A kick like that should have rendered him unconscious for at least another ten!

Sarah threw her arms up in the air in frustration and said something that would have made Carina blush.

After calming down a bit and realising that it was useless to stand outside dwelling, she returned to the room of hard-drives. At least the guy inside hadn't gotten up.

The USB cable was right where she'd dropped it. She picked it back up and connected one end to her phone, the other to the nearest hard-drive, after opening the casing. She sat there for a second. Nothing happened, and then – _Please select directory for download._

The overdue grin that blossomed on her face was her first true smile all day.

Lists and lists of files then began to pop up on her screen. Thousands of them. Almost crossing the screen too quickly for her eyes to read them. Most of the file names were random letters of code, but there were some words that she recognised: _Percuis. Costa Gravas. Operation Nightfall. Oil. Nacho Sampler. Paris. _

Unfortunately, most of the files looked encrypted and she probably wasn't going to be able to read them here. Chloe really was going to have her work cut off for -

Then the lights went out.

Sarah was up in a instant, eyes glancing around for movement, ears listening for footsteps.

Except there was no-one.

Then she caught something in the periphery of her vision.

She spun around to see sparks start to spit from one of the hard-drives – No, make that two. And then the sparks were everywhere and the lights on the hard-drives were starting to flicker, too. More and more sparks and the sounds of circuits being fried.

_No,_ this wasn't happening. Not when she was so close to -

The sparks stopped.

And the lights of all the hard-drives in the room all went dark.

"Dammit!"

# # #

**13th October 2007**

**Echo Park, Burbank, CA**

**07:43 PST**

As she stepped through the little archway, past the series of mailboxes and into an open courtyard where water was flowing freely from a little fountain, Sarah tried to imagine what it would be like to live in this small apartment complex, and failed. There was nothing particularly bad about it – what with the overgrown hanging plants that bridged the gap between open windows and the garden chairs that appeared to belong to no-one in particular - it was just so cliché. She doubted that she would find any place more subdued in the whole of L.A.

And yet, this was the official residence of one Dr Eleanor Faye Bartowski.

Shrugging off a strange feeling of mild claustrophobia, she proceeded to the apartment that was listed "Bartowski/Woodcomb," and knocked on the door three times.

_Here goes nothing._

After what had happened at the Ring base, she'd headed to back to the cheap hotel she was staying at – unsanctioned missions had a somewhat smaller expenses budget – to recoup and gather her thoughts. Three hours of sleep and one long shower later, her failure to retrieve any information from the hard-drives was still stinging. Her only lead had turned into a dead end and she'd let a suspect escape – in her own car!

But instead of sitting in her room waiting for the Feds – or the NSA - to find something, she'd decided to try a different approach to tracking Chuck. Maybe he had some sort of connection to L.A: job, friends, family, anything. Strangely, the personnel file she had on him had drawn a blank, the only piece of personal information being that prior to joining the CIA he'd attended Stanford University. No family listed. However, not satisfied, she'd pulled up county records and found one Bartowski currently residing in LA.

That had to be something.

Bartowski was a fairly uncommon surname, after all. The Feds were still keeping a wrap on the investigation, as the ID of the body had yet to be confirmed. So this unknown Bartowski would not know Chuck was dead. Lying to this person was not going to be fun. Who was this woman to Chuck? Perhaps a mother or a -

The door opened to reveal a tall woman with brown hair and a kind face. She looked to be in her late twenties and was wearing medical scrubs.

_Sister._

"Hi," she said with a smile. "Can I help you?"

"Err, yeah," Sarah replied, suddenly feeling very awkward. "Are you Eleanor Bartowski?"

The woman gave a small nod, her smile not dropping. "It's Ellie, please. Only my dad ever calls me Eleanor."

Sarah felt her mouth form a silent "O," somewhat unnerved at the other woman's willingness to share personal information like that with a stranger. Or maybe it was just the mention of fathers. "Ellie," she repeated.

Ellie's smile broadened. "That's right. And you are?"

"Sarah. Sarah Walker." There really was no need for cover names. Not another one at least, anyway.

Ellie held out her hand, which Sarah shook. "Well, Sarah, Sarah Walker, nice to meet you."

Sarah just stood there for moment, still a little taken aback by the resemblance Ellie shared with Chuck...particularly the eyes. "Likewise," she finally said.

Ellie looked like she was waiting for something, though that face didn't look like it was capable of showing impatience. The woman was, well, a doctor so she probably did have a busy - "I'm looking for your brother," Sarah suddenly blurted.

Crap. That had come out wrong. _Way to be smooth, Sarah._

"My brother?" Ellie's expression immediately changed. The smile was gone and her face looked harder. Older, even. Pursing her lips, she threw a quick glance over her shoulder before stepping outside and closing the door. This caused Sarah to take an involuntary step back. "How'd you know Chuck?"

_Remember the mission, CIA._

"We worked together in Washington for a while before he was transferred here. And – God, this is kinda embarrassing – I told him I'd look him up to say, um, hi, if I were ever in town. Only the thing is, my phone got a little busted and I sorta lost his number. But he mentioned having a sister and I thought you might be able to put me in touch." At least the last part was true. Kind of.

Ellie blinked, the look of suspicion replaced by curiosity. "You and my brother were...friends, then?"

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks – why did she have the feeling that this woman could see right through her? "Something like that," she muttered truthfully.

"Ah, I guess that kinda figures then," Ellie said with a grim smile, hunching her shoulders a little. "It's been a while since my brother's had a girlfriend, especially one like – actually, never mind. He does have a tendency to get, um, distracted a little. So that might explain why he's been so distant."

_Girlfriend?_ Why not? She had almost as implied as much. There were honestly times when she hated her job.

"He's been distant?" she asked.

Ellie frowned. "Really distant. He hasn't even called for six months, it's just so unlike – wait, didn't he speak to you about this?"

"We haven't really spoken in a while," Sarah answered. "It's complicated."

"It's my brother, of course it would be," Ellie said, shaking her head from side to side. She looked so...deflated "I'm afraid I can't help you, though. I don't have a number for Chuck any more – not that he'd answer my calls anyway – and I didn't even know he was in L.A."

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know..."

Ellie shook her head again. "It's not your fault. I'm sure Chuck will have some ridiculous explanation for where he's been, anyway."

_No, he won't_. She'd gladly take another round with Captain Wrestler over having to continue to lie to Chuck's sister. She couldn't even blame anyone for putting her in this position. She had come here on her own.

Sarah raised her eyebrows slightly and forced a smile. "He's Chuck."

Ellie nodded. "That he is. Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat...A friend of Chuck's and all. But my shift at the hospital started ten minutes ago so..."

"Oh, don't let me keep you."

Ellie disappeared back into the apartment before re-emerging thirty seconds later with a sports bag slung over her shoulder. She hesitated slightly before handing Sarah a card. "Call me if you hear from Chuck. Please"

Sarah made the promise which she wouldn't be able to keep and Ellie set off down the courtyard. Just as she reached the archway, she called back. "Oh, and Sarah, Chuck will probably be able to help you out with that phone, if you ever see him. He's good with that sort of stuff."

And then she was gone, leaving Sarah alone in the courtyard.

A unpleasant thought began to wrangle its way through her brain. The very time she might see Ellie next could be Chuck's funeral.

What the hell would she ever say to her then? Hi Ellie, I kind of already knew your brother was dead and lied to your face about it. Oh, and by the way, I wasn't actually his girlfriend. I was Bryce Larkin's girlfriend. You know, the person who almost got your brother kicked out of school and – No.

_Remember the mission, CIA._

Ellie Bartowski hadn't been lying. She genuinely didn't know where Chuck had been. That underlying look of concern that had plagued her face throughout the entire encounter hadn't been fake; it was the look of a worried sister.

Whilst Ellie Bartowski was certainly oblivious to Chuck's recent whereabouts and activities, things were not boding well for the man himself. Cutting off family ties was a necessary step in going dark, and Chuck hadn't struck her as the kind of person who'd do that without having a good reason – such as, say joining The Ring. The voice in her head that kept insisting that Chuck was innocent had quietly been diminishing.

"Excuse me?"

Ripped from her thoughts by the voice behind her interrupting the silence, Sarah spun around to see a bearded man standing in Ellie's doorway. His hands were tucked away in his pockets. How long had she been standing there? She hadn't even heard the door open.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, sounding apologetic.

Sarah shook her head. "Don't worry, you didn't."

"Good to know, I guess," he said, his eyes widening a little. "I don't mean to pry, but I sorta overheard that you're looking for Chuck?"

"You heard correct," she answered, giving her lips an almost imperceptible lick. "Sorry, do you live here?"

The man laughed a little and shook his head. "God no, I'm not nearly awesome enough for that. Ellie just lets me have breakfast here sometimes. Occasionally. "

"That's nice of her," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Sarah, I worked with Chuck in DC."

"Morgan Grimes," he replied, shaking her outstretched hand as he did so. "Chuck's best friend. Soul mate/heterosexual life partner."

Heterosexual what now?

Morgan Grimes was a strange little man. "So, you worked with Chuck, huh?"

"I – err, we were friends," she said, again caught off guard by the question.

"Ah, I see. Good for Chuck," he said with a smile.

"Ellie said that Chuck hasn't been in touch for months?" she asked, trying to change the subject before half of Burbank had her labelled as the future Mrs Chuck Bartowski; the reason he ditched his family and friends. Then again, that was better than the alternative.

Morgan suddenly looked very awkward at the question she had posed. He stepped out of the doorway and gestured for her to follow him. He took a seat on the edge of the little fountain and putting his hands on his knees, waited for her to do the same. She did so a little nervously, keeping a distance between them.

"I saw Chuck a few days ago," he revealed, letting out a long sigh. "Ellie doesn't know," he added.

"What? Where?" she demanded, abruptly turning to face him, her eyes wide.

He raised his eyebrows, looking a little taken a back. "In Griffith Park. Yeah, he was acting all weird," he said before adding, "Something was clearly bothering him."

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Well, he said some things to me that were, um, very un-Chuck like," he said, pausing to straighten his tie . "But before I could say anything, he practically ran off on me."

"Oh," she said simply. Morgan had clearly been bothered by something his friend had said to him. Should she comfort him? "Do you, um, know where he is now?"

Again, Morgan looked awkward. "Not exactly," he answered.

"What does that mean?"

"After Chuck ran off, I was a little, ah, distraught and didn't have the good sense to go after him. But, as it happens, two rather, um, unscrupulous colleagues of mine were also getting lunch in the area at the time of said encounter and decided to follow him themselves."

"They stalked him?" she said, cocking an eyebrow slightly.

Morgan sighed. "For, and I quote, "suspicious and morally questionable behaviour." But really, compared to some of the other stuff these two do, stalking is hardly – Anyway, sorry that's not important. Yeah, so they followed him back to some hotel but, being the hard working employees that they are, turned back before they could follow him in."

At seeing Sarah's slight frown, he added. "Their lunch break was over."

"So Chuck was – is staying at this hotel?"

Morgan shrugged. "That's the thing. I went to check this place out and there was no Chuck Bartowski on the guest list. The management weren't very helpful."

Sarah nodded sympathetically. "Can I get the address of that hotel? I'd like to have a look myself if you don't mind."

"Yeah, sure, be my guest," he said enthusiastically. He pulled a little pad from his pocket and wrote an address down. "Just let me know what you find, okay?"

"I will do," she said, taking the piece of paper from him.

"Thanks."

She hesitated for a second, before asking, "Just one more thing, why didn't you tell Ellie you saw him?"

Morgan slowly stood up and, scratching his beard, said, "Ellie practically raised Chuck on her own. Now he's avoiding her and everyone else, for whatever reason and – I just wouldn't know what to say."

"I understand," she said simply, standing up herself. "Oh and, if I were you, I'd talk to those two "colleagues" of yours about what they do in their lunch breaks. You know, being the Assistant Manager and all."

Morgan looked down at the Assistant Manager's vest he was wearing and proudly grinned. "I will do. New job and everything. I've yet to flex my metaphoric muscles."

Sarah smiled back at him and after thanking Morgan again for the address, turned to leave.

As she stepped back through the archway, she realised that she may have misjudged Morgan Grimes. She also had a new found respect for Ellie Bartowski.

_Now Chuck, it's time to find out what you've been up to. _

# # #

**13th October 2007**

**Daniel Marks' Hotel Room, Los Angeles, CA**

**08:30 PST**

This lead probably wouldn't pan out.

That was what Sarah kept telling herself.

At the end of the day, this was only a hotel room and Chuck had been dead for over 12 hours now. She was almost sure that she wouldn't find anything here. Clothes, toothbrush and a suitcase would hardly shed light on Chuck's recent activities, nor would they reveal Bryce's location or whatever The Ring had masterminded.

But however much rationalising her mind did, it wasn't enough to subdue the overwhelming sense that behind this door there would be an explanation for everything that had happened. She knew it was stupid, but that feeling had been with her since she'd left Echo Park, re-enforced by the receptionist downstairs having seen Chuck as recently as yesterday.

Like Morgan had said, there was no Chuck (or Charles) Bartowski on the guest list and the receptionist hadn't exactly been helpful. But, after flashing her badge, there had been a change of heart, and upon showing a photo of Chuck, the receptionist had recognised him as "Daniel Marks, management consultant." Security had then given her a master key and she'd insisted upon going up alone – even if she couldn't look after herself, the room was going to be empty, anyway.

Her hand was shaking slightly as she moved to put the key into the slot in the door. Nerves? Maybe it was just the caffeine. Instinctively, her right hand was resting on her _S&W_, which was in its usual spot in the back of her jeans and after a light green light flickered, she opened the door with her left.

Pushing it fully open with her shoulder revealed -

No-one.

As she'd expected, the room was empty.

But someone had been staying here. Recently.

The bed was unmade and clothes were strewn about the place. The window at the rear of the room had a large crack in it, spiralling outwards, as if something heavy had been thrown at it. There was no "Do-Not-Disturb" sign on the door, so surely the maid would have cleaned things up by now? Given the nature of the hotel, it was hardly likely that the help was lazy...

Laptop.

Sarah moved fully into the room towards the laptop, which was sitting on the large work desk. It really looked like it had been through the works, but there were still lights on it. Always a good sign, she thought to herself.

But before she reached the desk, her phone buzzed.

Pulling it out her pocket, she started to read the text message. It was from Robinson, the FBI agent investigating the bombing.

_UPDATE: Preliminary dental analysis just came back. Body found at the scene is not -_

"Sarah?"

Sarah's eyes shot up from the message to where the shocked voice had come from. Standing in the open doorway, looking paler than a ghost with arms hung loosely at his side, was Chuck Bartowski. Very much alive.

"Chuck, you're – but, how?" she stumbled, completely dumbfounded.

Chuck looked like he was about to be sick. His head started to shake uncontrollably from side to side. "You shouldn't – you can't be here. You have to... to go."

They were both still in such a state of shock, that neither of them immediately registered the other man step up from behind Chuck.

Sarah was the first to react, dropping her phone and reaching to grab her -

But he was faster.

There was already a gun in his hand.

"Cooper, NO!" Chuck yelled, trying to block the other man to no avail.

That was strange. There was no bang. She'd always thought there'd be a bang. Hadn't he fired yet?

The other man just stood waiting. Watching her. So did Chuck, having been shunted aside.

Her fingers were feeling funny. Why couldn't she get a grip on her gun?

And why were her knees suddenly unable to support her weight? She hadn't been shot; she knew what that felt like and this was not that.

Her vision was starting to get cloudy.

"Chu..." she tried to say.

Then darkness took her.

# # #

**A/N**_ Sorry to leave it like that. I promised there'd be Chuck. There was Chuck. When will the next update be? I don't wanna put a date on it, but probably within a week, definitely within two._


	8. Möbius

**A/N**: _As I'm writing this, it's getting so late that the birds are starting to sing. I find that very weird for winter. Eh, stupid birds. But the moon is pretty bright, so I am a little worried about all the werewolves, vampires and Shaws etc of the night. _

_Anywho, chapter 8 has arrived. Möbius, it is called. Divisive, it will be. Review it, you will. Hehe. Nothing like a bit of nightime Yoda'ing up of things, right? The usual thanks go out to_** Dana **_for the beta work._ _Seriously, she powered through this. And I feel I should mention again, for those of you who haven't already, check out her new story, _**Mary and Chuck vs the Ties That Bind.**

_And as far as I'm aware of, there are no references to 24 in the following chapter. _

**Chapter 8**

**Möbius**

"_The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray." - Robert Burns. _

UNKNOWN LOCATION

Her head was spinning.

In a strange way, it seemed to be giving a sense of order to the ever present nausea. Balancing it.

But that was probably just bullshit.

Her mind clutching at straws.

She couldn't quite tell whether she was conscious or not – she'd been drifting in and out of it for a while now and lucidity was something that had been lost along the way.

There was only one thing that she was completely aware of.

Everything hurt.

Almost every part of her was hurting

And the rest that didn't simply ached.

Wrists, which should have been numb by now, were just raw.

Her tongue was swollen against a parched throat.

Bruises were peppered around her torso and though only superficial, they were bringing pain to parts of her which she didn't know existed.

And her arms.

Her arms felt as if they could pop out of their sockets at any moment.

Her feet were only just scratching the floor, not quite enough to stand, keeping her in a constant state of limbo trying to balance her weight in the way that caused the least amount of pain. It wasn't working.

She didn't bother trying to open her eyes.

Well, her one good eye. The other one was just too swollen and heavy to even attempt at opening.

Though the blindfold had been removed, the room she had been in for the last – however long – was almost entirely pitch black. There would have been nothing to look at besides that stupid red dot in the corner.

Besides, opening her eye would have made everything real.

It was much easier to just keep them closed. Closed in the hope that it would bring her closer to unconsciousness, where the pain would be absent, where she wished she could stay. Where none of this was real.

It hadn't been like this to begin with.

Not at all.

When she'd finally woken up from whatever drug the man called Cooper had tranq'd her with, she hadn't been hanging from rafters. She hadn't been in any pain. She hadn't even been blindfolded. In fact, she'd been sitting upright in a chair. Albeit, handcuffed to the chair, but sitting comfortably all the same.

The room had been small, square and concrete. It had clearly been designed for interrogations, as the chair she was in was bolted to the floor, right in the centre of the room. There was also a heavy smell of bleach and other disinfectants, which she assumed were supposed to be intimidating and remind her that the room's previous occupants probably hadn't had happy endings.

Cooper had been there when she woke up, watching her. Chuck wasn't.

He'd smiled and produced a bottle of water, which he'd offered to her. Whatever drug had been in her system had left her incredibly dehydrated and she was thirsty as hell. Still, she'd refused the water until Cooper himself had tried it.

The questions had been simple at first. Name, today's date, agency affiliation – all stuff which he already knew. Questions that were designed to get her talking. His tone was flat and perfectly unrevealing. Then it had turned more serious: What did she know about the car bombing? Why was she in California? What were her Agency clearance codes? How was the investigation into Graham's murder progressing?

Cooper had gotten the same answer to every question.

Silence.

And at first, that didn't seem to bother him. He would just smile politely and ask another question. Only to get the same answer.

This went on for hours. At least it seemed like hours – there were no windows in the room, and thus, gone was the perception of time.

She'd refused to even acknowledge him when he spoke to her. The man had clearly been doing this sort of thing for a long time and from all her anti-interrogation training back at the Farm, she knew that trained interrogators could sometimes get answers from even the slightest bit of body language. Besides, this wasn't her first gig; she knew what she was doing.

She'd tried to occupy her mind by counting the number of questions he'd asked in an effort to keep some semblance of how much time had past. But it had been a feeble attempt and she'd quickly given up – the room's bright lights and Cooper's ridiculous pacing were just too much of a distraction.

Then he'd asked a question that had got her attention. A question that she'd not been expecting. One that had caused her jaw to twitch ever so slightly.

What was Bryce Larkin doing in Los Angeles?

If Cooper had picked up on this involuntary tell, he hadn't let on, for after her standard period of silence he'd asked another question. Maybe he wasn't that good.

Bryce was in L.A? That was news to her. Maybe he could save her. Still, right now that was not important. She couldn't afford to be Sarah the partner, Sarah the friend, Sarah the girlfriend, ex or not, it didn't really matter.

No.

She wasn't Sarah the anything.

She was Agent Walker.

She was the Agent Walker who didn't divulge information to terrorists. She was the Agent Walker who understood the risks and consequences of what she did. She was the Agent Walker who was bound by duty to protect her country and to die for it if necessary.

That was why she was the best.

The only answer Cooper ever got was silence.

Eventually though, he'd realised that this method wasn't working and after giving her one last chance to answer his questions, calmly exited the room. About a minute later the door opened again and...

_Oh shit._

Captain Wrestler had walked in, smiling.

There was an ugly looking bruise on his face.

The smile had turned into a predatory grin as he polished his knuckles, cradling them gently like one would stroke a cat.

Then, like a trebuchet slowly being reclined, he'd raised his large arm.

When she'd next awoke, she was blindfolded. The chair was gone and so were the lights. From what she could tell, she was still in the same room, only now her wrists were chained. Chains which drew up to rafters, from which she was hanging. And God -

Her shoulders.

The shearing pain running through them made them feel as if they were on fire. How long had she been there? The pain in her shoulders was almost enough to distract her from the large bruise that had appeared on her face where Captain Wrestler had hit her.

Her jacket had been removed, as had her belt. Someone had dropped the temperature a couple of degrees and she was starting to feel it against her outstretched limbs and exposed torso. There was concrete below, scrapping against her now bare feet. She'd realised that even though there were no bindings holding her feet together, her legs were just too heavy to move. There was no way she'd be able to put any weight on them – not without dislocating her shoulders, and she wasn't prepared to do that. Not yet, anyway. The way the shackles were bound to her wrist meant that there was no way that she could get a grip on the chains, either.

When the door had next opened, Cooper had reappeared through it. Aside from removing her blindfold, he didn't touch her. He just let her hang there. Let her know he was in control.

When the questions finally started again, they were more spaced out, sporadic even, and seemed slightly random in nature. That may have just been the dehydration induced delirium that had once again started to creep up on her.

She didn't answer any of his questions.

Realising that she still wasn't talking, he'd reattached the blindfold and left the room, leaving her alone with the rafters.

By now, the disinfected smell of the room started to fade, only to be replaced by the smell of her own body. She hadn't been allowed to use any wash facilities and by now, she realised, she must reek. Oh well, hopefully her interrogator would notice.

The little sessions of him entering, asking questions and leaving continued for some time. Occasionally, he'd bring her some water or perhaps a slice of bread, just enough to keep her alive. Sometimes the sessions would feel longer, but more often than not they were the same length. The gaps between them, however, were a completely different matter. They felt as if they varied from minutes to hours; she couldn't exactly tell. One thing was for sure about them, though. The whole point appeared to be to prevent her from sleeping.

At least that part of the interrogation was working.

Even before she'd been captured, she'd only had five hours of sleep in a forty-eight hour period.

She still didn't answer any of his questions.

Then the beatings had started.

Sarah had been somewhat surprised that it hadn't been Captain Wrestler administering them, as Cooper seemed a little too detached from everything to want to get his hands dirty. She couldn't have been more wrong.

The man was clearly a sadist and got off on what he was doing. A typical session would begin by him undoing her chains, causing her to crash to the ground in pain. But before she'd be able to muster the strength to react, two guards would haul her back up and reattach her.

Then Cooper would hit her. Hard.

He knew exactly where to hurt her.

Initially, she'd tried to remain silent and not give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

That didn't last for long.

Still, silence was the only answer he ever got to any question.

# # #

As soon as she heard the lights snap on, she knew she was awake and braced herself. Braced herself to be suddenly dropped to the floor, bringing her shoulders some momentary relief. She heard the door scrape open a couple of meters in front of her and for some reason unknown to her, she pried her good eye open to see what was there. The light was almost too bright and she nearly closed it straight away. But she didn't.

Sure enough, standing in the doorway with a grin on his face, was Cooper. He was flanked by his two grunts, ready to carry out his orders. He just stood for a minute, staring. Taunting. Enjoying the moment. She knew what was coming. He knew what was coming. Grunt A and Grunt B both knew what was coming. Why prolong what was inevitable?

_Bring it, you sick motherfu-_

"Cooper!" cried a voice from behind him.

On hearing the voice, Cooper turned his back to her to reveal –

_Traitor._

From along the long corridor that extended past her cell, Chuck Bartowski came running into view, looking very out of breath. He came to a stop next to Cooper and after giving Sarah a fleeting glance, turned to face him.

"Ah, you've arrived," Cooper said casually. "Traffic was good then, I take it?"

Chuck gave Cooper a puzzled look, before ignoring the question. "I want to talk to her."

"What makes you think you'll get anything out of her?" he asked in the same casual tone.

Chuck looked at him thoughtfully before swallowing. "You've been at this for three days and from what you've told me on the phone, haven't gotten anywhere. Let me try. I know her. I can get answers."

_Three days? _Was that how long it had been? It had been seemed like weeks...

Cooper took a deep breath, then sounding a little disappointed said, "Fine. You try. But don't go easy on her."

"Turn the cameras off," Chuck ordered as Cooper started to head off back down the corridor. "I don't want this to be recorded."

"Have fun," Cooper called back, chuckling a little.

Manoeuvring past the two guards, who were both much thicker than his lanky build, Chuck stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

He just looked at her, hands buried deep into the pockets of his black jacket. Staring.

And she just stared right back.

Sarah started to feel a rage build up within her. A deep seated rage that she hadn't felt in years. It was the first real thing that she'd felt in days besides pain – powerful enough to give her something to focus on. Chuck Bartowski, her former partner, was now a Ring agent. How dare he have the audacity to just stand there and stare at her? Judging.

She knew she should break the stare, but she couldn't. He would break first. She just kept gazing into the eyes of the traitor in front of her, trying to understand. At least Cooper had the decency to be loyal to his cause. Someone had told her once that the eyes could communicate worlds and that's what she was trying to do to Chuck, which was unleash all of her built up rage through that one stare.

_Chuck Bartowski, you bastard._

If he was sensing the tension within her, he gave no indication of it. He just continued to stand there. Waiting.

Then his eyes flickered, darting towards the camera in the corner of the room. Ah, she remembered, that's what the red light was from. Only, now it was gone. The camera had been turned off.

Chuck let out a long breath – was that relief? Then he started to unzip his jacket and stepping towards her, pulled out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and while gently cradling her chin, lifted the bottle to her mouth. God, she was thirsty, that water felt so good and – NO!

With some unknown strength that she had abruptly found, she spat the water back into his face. Go to hell.

Chuck blinked.

He didn't wipe his face. He didn't even look shocked at what she had done. He just hung the bottle loosely at his side, unsure of what now to do with it.

"Sarah-" he started to say.

"I have absolutely nothing to say to you."

Where had that come from? That was the first time she had said anything real in days. It was barely more than a whisper, but given how dry her throat was, she was surprised she'd managed to speak at all. But, she had said it. She needed to say it. Whatever crappy excuse he was going to try and reason her with, she didn't want hear it. He had betrayed her, and was a traitor, pure and -

"Sarah, I'm undercover," Chuck suddenly blurted.

"You're – what? But that's – how?" she tried to say, but nothing proper came out. A million questions had flooded her mind all at once. He just said what? How could...

Ah, she realised, it's a ploy. The grim realisation hit home before the tiny bit of hope that had emerged within her could fully settle.

She cleared her throat before defiantly saying,"Don't believe you."

Chuck gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Sarah, I'm not lying. I'm so so sorry for what's happened and I know you have absolutely no reason to believe me, but I promise you, it's the truth."

_Bullshit._

There was just no way.

Sarah dragged her heavy head up to look once again into those eyes. Those eyes that had fascinated her all those months ago when Bryce had first introduced her. Those eyes that she'd defiantly refused to think about. Those eyes that had then gone and joined The Ring. What she saw in them, however, was not the look of a traitor, but a genuine look of affliction. They really did look sad. Older, too. Now she could see him more closely, he looked a lot more pale than the last time she'd seen him. Maybe he _was_ telling the truth.

"Truth?" she asked, still not sure what to believe.

Chuck, however, looked relieved. He nodded more confidently this time. "Look, I can't explain everything right now, but I promise I'm gonna get you out of here. Just drink, okay?"

He didn't give her a choice.

Before she could protest, the water was gently trickling to the back of her throat. She didn't spit it back this time. Initially, she had trouble swallowing and Chuck seemed to recognise that, not letting too much water flow into her mouth. Then, before she knew it, she was lapping greedily at the bottle, the cool liquid doing wonders for her parched throat.

Chuck tucked the empty bottle back into his jacket and pulled something else out of another pocket, then started to remove a wrapper.

"If you're undercover, then how-"

She was interrupted as he popped a couple of pieces of candy into her mouth, shooting her an apologetic look as he did. He clearly felt awkward at feeding her. She didn't care. She just sucked on the candy, already starting to feel the effect of the sugar. She couldn't place the taste, all she knew was that it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. Ever.

"I'm sorry," Chuck blurted again. "At the hotel, I forgot Cooper was behind me – I didn't know. I couldn't stop him. And then it took forever for them to tell me where you were and..." He trailed off.

"S'Okay," she mumbled quietly, before letting out a heavy sigh. She'd now swallowed the candy and her

rage, having slowly dissipated, meant that her pain was once again starting to become noticeable.

Chuck's eyes upon seeing this, widened and he appeared to remember the situation.

"Oh crap," he said. "I'm sorry I don't have the..." He gestured to the chains above her and shook his head.

The combined effect of the water and sugar was starting to wake her up and her mind once again felt like it could process complex thought. She still wasn't sure whether or not to believe him. He had offered her no proof of his being undercover, other than his word and a look in those damn eyes. But what choice did she have, really?

"If you're really undercover, then who's your handler?" she asked.

Chuck didn't appear to have heard the question, as he had stepped back and was looking thoughtfully at the chains. But then having settled on something, he stepped forward and wrapping an arm around her legs, gently lifted her up. The other arm settled on her back, supporting her. "Sorry, what was the question?" he asked, an awkwardness having filled his voice because of the new found closeness of their position.

But it was Sarah's turn not to answer as the burden on her shoulders was suddenly lifted. The chains slackened and her numb arms fell to a more natural position by her chest. She closed her eye for a second, enjoying this temporary bliss. Chuck didn't have to do this, even if he was undercover. He shouldn't be doing this. It was a risk to both his cover and his person to do so.

Then she felt something change.

Gone was the CIA agent, who was the best of the best. Gone was the CIA agent who hadn't said a word for days. Gone was the unbreakable agent shell that had protected her.

Gone was Agent Walker.

She was just Sarah again.

It felt nice under Chuck's grip.

Sarah tried to blink away the tiniest bit of moisture in her eye.

She cleared her throat again, for even with the water that Chuck had given her, it was still difficult to speak. "Thank you," she whispered. "I was asking who your handler was?"

Because of the position he was in, Sarah couldn't see Chuck's face clearly. But she thought she felt his arms tightening around her. "My handler? I don't – Not any... Um, Bryce."

Sarah's sudden movement nearly caused Chuck to drop her.

"Bryce is your handler?"

Chuck quiet voice was slightly muffled. "Yes. But it's complicated – I can't explain right now. I will later, I promise. Right now, we need to figure out how to get you out of here."

That was the second time she'd heard Brye's name mentioned. But right now, there was something more pressing.

"Chuck, you're still undercover, right?"

He looked up at her. From this angle she could see that there was a small bruise a few days old on his right cheek. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you haven't broken cover, have you?"

"No," he answered. "But what's that got to do with anything?" A frown was starting to form on his face.

Dammit, he wasn't getting it. "Chuck," she said gently. "You can't break me out of here and maintain your cover. Greater good, remember?"

"No," he said simply, clinging on to her more tightly.

"Yes," she replied, forcing a swallow. He wasn't making this easy. "If you managed to infiltrate The Ring this deeply, then you can't destroy all that just to get me out."

"What do you mean just to get you out?" he said, a little more fiercely.

"Didn't Cooper send you in here to _interrogate _me?"

Chuck appeared to think about it for a second, then the realisation hit and he gave her another apologetic look. "I'm gonna lower you back down, okay?"

Sarah slowly nodded, readying herself for what she knew was coming. "It has to sound convincing."

As gently as he had picked up her, Chuck slowly began to lower her back down. Back down until -

The chains tightened and she once again sighed back into the pain. She could almost see it mirrored in the look on Chuck's face as he took a step back from her.

"I'm so sorry," he said again. With that, he formed his right hand into a fist.

She closed her eye and tensed up, ready for the -

_Smack._

Her eye shot back open.

Chuck had smashed his right fist into his left palm. It wasn't a light punch, either. He had hit it hard.

Loud enough for the guards outside to hear.

A couple of seconds break.

Then he did it again. And again. And again.

His face was barely even contorting with every time that he did it.

Then he stopped and turned his gaze back to Sarah, pursing his lips slightly. "I think that sounded convincing."

"Yeah," she said, unsure of what else to say.

He raised his arms in the air and after thinking about it, let them drop back down. He cleared his throat. "I get what you said, I do. And I don't care. So much has happened that – I just can't..." He paused to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose. "... I just can't do this any more. I'm not going to let them hurt you more, Sarah. I'm not, I swear it."

Her mind started to object, but her worn out body welcomed just what he said. "Chuck...You can't..."

Chuck shook his head defiantly. "I'm gonna get you out of here, I promise. Just hold on a little longer."

"Chuck-" she started to say.

But before she could object any more to whatever he was planning, Chuck had already walked over to the door and banged on it twice. The door promptly swung open and he stepped back out into the corridor. Just before the door closed, he glanced back at her and with a new found determination in his eyes, he mouthed something.

_Hang on._

# # #

13th October 2007 [THREE DAYS EARLIER]

Daniel Marks' Hotel Room, Los Angeles CA

10:17 PST

"Dammit, Cooper, just tell me where she is!"

Chuck was losing his patience. Since he'd left with Sarah nearly two hours ago, Cooper had been unreachable. During that time, Chuck estimated that his pacing had probably worn a good half-inch off the carpet in his hotel room. Now having finally decided to answer his phone, Cooper was being difficult.

His response was halfway between a grunt and a growl. "You know I can't do that. She's a top level CIA agent; the Director has to personally clear access for anyone to even get _near_ her."

Chuck threw his hand up in the air. "So get me the damn clearance then!"

"Why is this so important? After Mexico, we both know that _interrogations_ aren't your thing."

_Crap_.

He hadn't thought of that. He'd been so adamant to find out where Sarah was that he'd forgotten how it might sound. Despite everything that had happened with the bombing, he was _still_ undercover. And didn't he know the price for that...

"It's just..." he said, having finally lowered his voice to a more reasonable level, "That I used to work with Walker. I can help things along."

He _hated _calling Sarah that.

Cooper laughed. "Even with what happened between her and Larkin?"

Chuck swallowed and for the nth time today began to feel very angry. "Yeah," he replied as calmly as he could, the words only just gritting through his teeth.

Cooper considered it for a moment. "Fine, whatever. I'll check with the Director. Might be a while though, as things are a lot tighter at the moment."

"Fine." Tighter was the freaking understatement of the century. He'd barely avoided having the leak for what happened with the bombing pinned on him...

"Which reminds me, what the hell are you still doing in that hotel room? It's been compromised; get out of there."

"Yeah," Chuck said again, not bothering to argue. He just hung up.

_Screw you, Cooper._

Chuck threw the phone down on the bed. All he could do now was wait. Cooper was his one life line to finding Sarah, to keeping his promise. Still, it would all be _his_ fault if she died...

He settled down on the bed and stared down at the spot where Sarah had fallen. He should have just blown his cover there and then, before Cooper had had the chance to tranq her. But he'd just been so shocked to see her standing there in his hotel room. He'd barely even thought about her over the past few months, having promised himself that he couldn't. That he shouldn't.

When Bryce had first introduced her, he actually thought he was dreaming. She was, hands down, probably the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Those eyes just seemed to go on forever... He didn't think women like that actually existed. Yet, there she was. And then she'd spoken to him. She hadn't laughed in his face at the idea that a guy like him was a field agent, unlike so many others who had. She'd been surprised, sure, but who wasn't. She hadn't even made fun of his stupid babbling. She had just _talked_ to him. Barely anyone at the CIA, let alone any women, ever did that. In a word, she was perfect. In the few days that he was around her and on the Colombia mission, he had started to develop feelings that he hadn't felt, or even thought he'd be able to feel, since Jill had-

But she was Bryce's girlfriend.

And that made sense. Because amazing girls like Sarah Walker belonged with people like Bryce. Besides, Bryce was his friend and Chuck didn't do that sort of thing. Even if she hadn't been with Bryce, he himself was about to go undercover. It just wouldn't have been fair. And what reason would she _ever _have to be interested in him, anyway? He was, well, him. That was why he couldn't think about her.

But then he had made his promise to – No, he wasn't going to think about that, either. Not now, not with Sarah in so much danger. He needed to stay calm.

But then, dammit, there she had been. There she had fallen, in that very spot. All traces of her previous cat-like grace gone. She had just fell.

Even if he had managed to come to his senses after Cooper had shot her, he wouldn't have been able to save her. Two more Ring agents had appeared out of nowhere to cart Sarah off, and he could have hardly taken the two of them and Cooper on. Not any more. Not since Perry, anyway.

Everything lay with Cooper now and whether he could get clearance with the Director. But no-one even knew where the Director was. After the leak, the Downtown tower block had been evacuated. Chuck had already tried to find out where Sarah was being held himself to no avail. Her triggering of the self-destruct mechanism at the data storage facility near the docks meant the intranet The Ring used was temporarily down. How the hell had she even found that place? Bryce had told him she was good, nut this was just...

Chuck let out a sigh and threw himself back onto the bed. Cooper had been right – It was time for him to leave this place and for Daniel Marks to go back to New York. He didn't exactly know where The Ring would send him next.

One thing was for sure though.

He was going to keep his promise.

He was going to save Sarah.

# # #

16th October 2007

Mojave Desert, San Bernardino County CA

12:47 PST

Three days later and the Director had finally given him clearance. However, Chuck was starting to question the address that Cooper had given him, as he really did seem to be in the absolute middle of nowhere.

Since he'd gotten off the I-15, he'd been driving along narrow deserted roads, which really weren't much more than dirt tracks, to be honest. The quality of the roads meant that he was limited to staying below forty and that, even for a driver as cautious as Chuck, could be incredibly frustrating. The signs of civilisation had been getting more and more sparse as the roads went on. In fact, he hadn't seen a house or even another car for at least fifteen minutes. That probably didn't bode well for Sarah. But at least she was alive. Cooper had told him that she alive.

He clung to that.

Outside, the sun was blazing down on the desolate landscape. The thermostat on the dashboard said that it was pushing 80OF, which even for the desert was hot for this time of year. Inside the car, the air conditioning had pushed the temperature down to a much more agreeable 68OF. But that didn't stop him from sweating.

He'd been sweating pretty much non-stop for the past three days, waiting for Cooper's call. He didn't know what else to do. Should he have called the CIA to let them know Sarah was missing? Part of him had wanted to, but he'd been too worried about alerting the wrong people. Now with Graham gone, who was he to trust? Not that he ever really trusted Graham. He'd decided his best bet was to maintain his cover and let Cooper tell him where Sarah was.

His GPS began to beep, indicating he was approaching his destination and -

Nothing.

Rock and sand.

_Great. Where are you, Sarah?_

Despite the voice telling him that he'd been fed the wrong destination and that Sarah was gone, he kept driving.

There had to be something out here. There had to.

The road began to curve around a large outcrop of rock.

Then he saw the house.

The sigh of relief that passed through him was so strong that he thought he might lose control of the vehicle.

Sarah.

Chuck increased the pressure on the gas slightly.

As he got closer, he could see that house was hardly a fitting description. It was more of a hut, to be fair. The building was entirely wooden and looked to only have one room. It was a little off the road and partially concealed by dried vegetation. There was a single black _Range Rover _parked outside and a man guarding the entrance. He was smoking.

Something was disturbingly familiar about this place.

He pulled off the road and parked his own vehicle next to the _Range Rover_. Chuck took a deep breath to calm his nerves and putting on his sunglasses, got out of the car.

_Here goes nothing._

The fully loaded _Walther_ was concealed beneath his jacket, ready. He'd actually gotten pretty good at using the thing on his own, as much as he hated it. But there was a much bigger picture now and he hardly had any right to cling onto morality any more. Not here.

Not now.

The guard waved to him as he saw him get out. He was bald and had a goatee around his chin and mouth. There was an assault rifle resting against the wall. Chuck recognised him. His name was Panzer.

"Carmichael," he grunted. "Cooper's been expecting you."

"He's inside?" Chuck asked, not bothering to look at him, keeping his eyes on the building.

Panzer gave a very gorilla-like smile. "Downstairs. With the bitch."

Chuck eyes shot towards him and he felt his jaw clench – It was all he could do to repress the urge to charge the much larger man.

_Just think of Sarah._

Suppressing a thousand curses, he calmly managed to ask, "Downstairs?"

Panzer took a heavy drag from his cigarette. "See for yourself. Everything is on the monitors."

Chuck just nodded and moved onto the little decking adjacent to the building, past Panzer.

He pulled his sunglasses off as he moved inside through the creaky wooden door. The house was indeed made up of one room and dusty windows weren't letting much light in. Most of the original furniture had been removed and there were scratches on the floor leading to where the rest had been pushed aside against the walls. At the rear of the room, part of flooring had been removed and there were some stairs leading downwards in its place.

Towards Sarah.

Just as Panzer had mentioned, there were several monitors on a desk in the centre of the room, showing multiple camera angles of what Chuck presumed to be downstairs. He nervously moved over to the desk and let his gaze fall on the centre monitor.

What he saw caused his heart to sink and his vision to turn red.

The figure on the screen was hanging from the ceiling, her arms chained. Her body was bruised and battered, the dirty clothes torn and hanging loosely from her noticeably thinner figure. Strands of blonde hair were partially obscuring her face, but that didn't stop him from seeing the bruises on it and her swollen right eye.

Chuck wanted to scream, but he didn't. He just watched the frail figure that was once Sarah Walker.

The sound of footsteps drew his attention back to the other monitor. Cooper and two guards were moving along a corridor downstairs towards a cell. Sarah's cell.

Pushing himself away from the desk, Chuck sprinted towards the stairs.

# # #

[About Ten Minutes Later]

_Hang on, _he mouthed as the guard slammed the door to Sarah's cell shut behind him, closing off her link with the rest of the world.

He couldn't let her stay in there, not any longer. She'd been there too long already. He desperately needed a plan.

He felt sick, sicker than he'd ever felt in his entire life. Somehow, he'd managed to hold it together inside the cell. He tried to be strong. Sarah was depending on him and he didn't want her to see how truly weak he felt.

He hadn't been prepared for what he had seen. Seeing her on the monitors had been bad enough. But being in the room with her, listening to her uneven breathing – she'd seemed so weak. So powerless. And yet, she'd somehow managed to hold out for three days.

Three _freaking _days while he'd been sitting on his ass.

She was so much stronger than he knew he could ever be.

He hadn't expected her to believe him at first. The evidence against him was good. For all intents and purposes, he _was _a member of The Ring. But for some strange reason, she'd eventually realised he was telling the truth.

The water and candy were all he'd been able to smuggle in and whilst they weren't enough, he hoped they'd be enough to sustain her until he figured out a plan to get her out of here. Compared to seeing Sarah in the state she was in, that was going to be the easy part.

After ignoring the guards, Chuck started to traipse back up the refurbished stairs where he assumed Cooper was waiting for him.

He wanted to kill Cooper for what he had done to Sarah.

How could someone actually do that? It was amazing that Sarah hadn't said anything by now. Ellie didn't even have that much will power.

But whatever strength that had been holding her together aside, he still hadn't had the heart to tell her about the car bombing, about why he was still alive and -

"Well, did you get anything?" Cooper asked as he reached the top of the stairs.

Chuck didn't make eye contact with the man. "No, not yet. But I think I made some progress."

"Well, I guess that wasn't entirely unexpected," Cooper said sounding disappointed, as he pushed past Chuck to head back down the stairs. "This calls for a new approach."

_Shit._

Chuck froze.

This was it.

Plan or not, he needed to act.

He needed to get Sarah out now.

Everything else could go to hell.


	9. The Things We All Do

_**A/N:** So by my count it's been two weeks since I updated. Longer than usual, but not that bad – I have a good excuse though. I was working at my uncle's moisture farm (just for some extra cash, you know with the economy and all...), when he bought these two droids from some Jawas. Anyway, so one of them runs off looking for "Obi-Wan" Kenobi and I go after it... Then the next thing I know, I'm on the freaking DEATH STAR and I have all these stormtroopers shooting at me! But for supposedly _trained _soldiers, they really can't hit anything for shit. It was all a little blurry after that... _

_Okay so that may be exaggerating a little. Thank **esardi **for pushing me into finally writing it. And thank **Dana**, for getting this back to me so fast. Seriously, she's awesome._

**Chapter 9**

**The Things We All Do**

16th October 2007

Secret Ring Facility

Mojave Desert, San Bernardino County CA

13:22 PST

"_I don't think I can do this, Bryce. What if something happens? What if something goes wrong?"_

"_You're gonna have help. This will make sure of that."_

Like any good friend would, Bryce had been true to his word. But that was back then. Before. This was now, where everything was real.

That "help", which over the past few months had transformed him into a field agent, was now all but buried. It didn't look like it was going to surface any time soon, either. His few meagre weeks of training had hardly been enough to prepare him for what was to come, for the emotional weight of everything that had happened, everything that he'd done. Busgang, now Sarah and, of course, Perry; it had just been too much. Bryce couldn't even help him now. Not any more.

The heart-stopping reality for Chuck was that he was truly on his own.

It had been maybe thirty seconds since Cooper had descended back into the basement, back towards Sarah, leaving him alone upstairs in the former shell of a house. It had been a thirty seconds that has passed all too slowly. A thirty seconds of panicking, of agonising, and of guilt. Thirty seconds more that Sarah had to suffer through, that Cooper had to inflict more unspeakable acts of violence upon her. Thirty seconds more of the _Walther_ pressing ever harder against his back, calling him to act.

The desert wind was scratching lightly at the outer wooden walls, gnawing them.

But Chuck still wasn't moving.

He couldn't.

At first, he'd thought it was fear – and he'd been right. Sort of.

But it wasn't fear for what he had to do; he knew what was necessary to get Sarah out and he was prepared to do it. It was a different sort of fear, triggered by the logical part of his brain that had, rather surprisingly, never ceased to function. It was a fear for Sarah, of what could happen to her were he to start shooting. Chuck wasn't stupid; there were four Ring agents spread around the compound that would hear his gunshot and act on it. And with Cooper probably being in Sarah's cell, he couldn't let that happen.

Clint Eastwood guns-blazing wasn't an option. Not without getting Sarah killed.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to the centre of the room, back in front of the monitors that revealed the carefully concealed bowels of the house. Desperately trying to avoid the wounded angelic face on the centre screen, he leant in closer and forcing back a gut-wrenching feeling of panic, started to examine the layout of the basement.

At least he was no longer sweating.

There was a small lobby area at the bottom of the stairs where the first guard was stationed. An open security door connected this room to the main corridor, which ran perhaps twenty feet in length, all the way to Sarah's cell at the end. The second guard, he could see, was seated in what looked like some sort of control room/armoury hybrid about halfway along the corridor. Another room on the opposite side of the corridor that contained several cots was empty. That only left Panzer, who was outside, and Cooper. Taking out the two guards before one of them could alert the other would be the tricky part, given their proximity to each other. Either of those two could probably hit a switch triggering a lock-down at the blink of an eye. If only he had his -

The sound of a slamming car door caused Chuck to raise his head away from the monitors.

Through dusty windows, he could make out the bulky figure of Panzer standing by the _Range Rover_ with what looked a newspaper in his arms. Seriously? He was going to start reading now! Just sit back, relax, and let the innocent woman downstairs get tortured. Ooh, the crossword! What's a five letter word for thug-for-hire? It was honestly surprising that a man like Panzer even knew _how_ to read. The man could barely string a sentence – Wait.

_Range Rover._

Ring agents were always taught to be prepared and this place, being the middle of the desert, was unlikely to be fully supplied with all the food, water, and ammunition needed to keep it running. Furthermore, it didn't look like it was in permanent use. That meant that any supplies would have to be brought along -

With a new found abruptness, Chuck pushed himself up and half ran across the creaking floor before slowing to a more reasonable pace as he reached the door, remembering where he was. Who he was supposed to be. He passed through it and out into the sunlight.

Not remembering what he'd done with his sunglasses, he instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes from the high noon sun as he moved off the decking. He felt his feet hit sand and nodded to Panzer, who was now leaning against the stationary vehicle, newspaper open.

"Cooper, erm, wanted me to get something," he said as casually as he could, stepping up to the vehicle. _Believe it. Believe it. Believe it._

Panzer eye's flicked up from his newspaper, an element of amusement in them, and a small smile formed. "He's having fun in there then? That bitch isn't going to know what hit her."

Unable to think of anything real to say, Chuck just murmured something incomprehensible and opened the rear door of the SUV, pulling himself in. Behind the seats, he could see that the trunk was largely empty. A metal netting had been put in place to separate it from the rest of the vehicle; a holding area. This was how they got her here.

Two large plastic cases that were stacked on top of each other dominated the middle seat, both unmarked. They were each around two square feet in area and another foot or so in depth, their weight indenting an impression on the seat. His heart was starting to throb against his chest. Even though he was certain Panzer had gone back to his paper, Chuck angled his body to block the larger man's vision as he moved to open the first case. Panzer would get suspicious if he didn't look like he knew what he was doing and this needed to work. Flicking open two metal latches, he lifted the lid and peered inside.

Guns.

Lots and lots of guns, all carefully tucked into place like a very, very adult toolbox. There were a couple of automatics, 9mms, spare magazines... Nothing that would be of any use getting Sarah out. He needed something quiet. A knife would be too messy and he honestly wasn't sure he had the physical strength to overpower any of the four men. Chuck lifted out the first tray of weapons and put it on the seat in front of him. Maybe there was something beneath that could-

Jackpot.

What Chuck saw caused a feral grin to slyly grow on his face. That could work. That would be quiet. His heart was still thumping against his chest and the bitter taste of adrenaline was starting to fill his mouth, helping to fuel a new, calm confidence that he was beginning to feel. He was going to save her. With his right hand, Chuck reached down into the case and gripped the small box-like object and pulled it out.

He pushed himself back out of the vehicle and slammed the door behind him, causing Panzer to look up. When he recognised the object in Chuck's hand, he grinned. "Cooper's decided to get creative then?"

He edged slightly closer to Pazner and with his thumb he flicked a switch, bringing the hand held taser to life. A small bar of blue electricity jumped to form a bridge between the two prongs at the end of the device.

Chuck shook his head and swallowed. "Actually, no. This was all me."

Then he pounced.

Panzer didn't have time to react as Chuck leapt forward, jabbing the taser past his bulk and into his exposed neck. He held it there as the electricity started to pass through Panzer's body, causing his eyes to roll spasmodically and veins to bulge against his skin. A silent scream escaped his lips as his muscles tensed against the current, trying to fight. It was a battle to keep the taser in place against thick twitching limbs – Then, all of a sudden, Panzer relaxed, his body a dead weight. Chuck pulled the taser back and moved forward to catch the unconscious form as it dropped toward the ground.

_Jesus, he's heavy_, Chuck thought as he struggled under Panzer's weight, trying to lower him as silently as possible. The man had at least fifty pounds of pure muscle on Chuck, making it difficult to set him leaning against the vehicle. Panzer's head fell back against metal, making a slight clunking sound, which caused Chuck to wince. Panzer didn't make a sound: he was out stone cold. After taking a step back, Chuck wiped a fresh bead of sweat from his forehead and stared, his breathing heavy.

"That's for calling Sarah a bitch."

Chuck started for the house before he had another idea, giving him pause. He stepped back towards Panzer and taking hold of both his arms, dragged him along the sand away from the _Range Rover, _the bald man not stirring as he did so. His newspaper beginning to unravel across the sand.

After awkwardly patting him down, he removed the pistol from Panzer's belt and put it in the _Range Rover's _passenger seat. Panzer's Ring phone was crushed. Fortunately, the keys had been left in the ignition, which was one less problem on Chuck's list. After making quick work of disabling the car's GPS unit, he moved into the back, taking one of the knives from the cases and headed over to his own car. He tightened his grip on the knife before proceeding to slash the tyres, one by one. The hiss of escaping air punctuated the desert silence as the car sunk into the ground. Hopefully, that would make sure that no-one was able to follow them.

Sudden very conscious that he'd been outside in the heat for almost two minutes now, he moved back towards the house, leaving the knife in the final tyre. This had been the easy part.

Inside, the dusty room was exactly how he left it; no-one appeared to have heard the commotion outside. Not that they should, Chuck reminded himself, he had been cautious. Glancing at the cameras, he could see that the two guards were still at their posts, right where they should be. And Sarah was – NO!

Chuck's mouth went dry at the image before him, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Sarah had her eyes closed again, her body was straining against the chains. Cooper was standing behind her, just next to her shoulder and even though the image lacked colour, Chuck recognised the unmistakable sheen glinting off the knife in his hand. Blood. From this angle it was difficult to see where the blood had come from, but Chuck could see that the back of Sarah's shirt had been torn, exposing her left shoulder. Cooper then smiled and raised the knife, gently stroking it against Sarah's back as he whispered in her ear.

Chuck could feel something deep begin to well inside him and red started to cloud his vision. When he had seen Sarah before, he had felt an indescribable anger that made him want do things that were – But this. This was different. Whatever he was feeling now was something new altogether, strong than anything he'd felt in days. Something akin to anger, but just – Dammit!

The taser he was still holding felt strangely pathetic in his hand as he gripped it tighter. He wanted so badly to just grab the gun stuffed in the back of his pants and start... But he couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't. Not if this was going to work.

Forcing his eyes away from the screens, Chuck felt his legs moving beneath him. It was a strange. He wasn't thinking; his body just seemed to be acting. His mind was too wrapped up in what he had just seen. Thoughts of Sarah. Thoughts of himself. Thoughts of Cooper lying dead on the ground, a rosebud between his eyes...

Then he was moving down the stairs. Into the layer of the beast. The guard at the bottom turned to towards him before looking away again, apparently satisfied. If Chuck had said or done something to acknowledge him, he couldn't remember doing so. He could see that the guard had only a side-arm on him, clipped to his belt. His hands were empty and he was standing just next to the open security door, such that he wasn't visible from the corridor.

Then the stairs abruptly ended and Chuck was right behind the other man, he palms starting to sweat. As if on cue, the guard moved to turn towards him like he had remembered to say something.

But he never had the chance.

Before he could open his mouth, Chuck's left arm was already round his neck, pulling him back, cutting off any air that would have gone on to form words. Just as he had with Panzer, Chuck flicked the taser back on and pushed it into the guard's neck. He could feel hands on his, scratching as the man struggled against him, but it was easier this time. Even though he was still bigger than Chuck, he was a dwarf on Panzer. Then his weight sank back, having slipped into unconsciousness and Chuck lowered him to the ground.

_Two down._

He sat the unconscious guard against the wall and pocketed his Ring phone. His shoulders were tense as he waited. Another five seconds. Nothing. No-one was attacking him; the other guard in the control room hadn't heard.

He begun to creep down the corridor, his taser arm held at waist height, ready. Poised to attack. His left arm was held defensively at chest level. The room that the final guard was in was ten feet away. The last obstacle before he would get to Sarah. And Cooper...

Five feet.

He could just see round into the room now. The edge of a table, a chair.

Two feet.

He couldn't see the guard yet, no sound of movement was coming from the room. Or breathing -

_Whoosh._

Chuck barely had time to block as a large muscular arm lashed from around the corner, only just managing to divert its path from his face. Instead, it crashed into his chest, winding him. Chuck's mouth fell open as he tried to gasp for air. He started to raise his arms, trying to get the taser up to...

But the guard was already on him. A snarling face complimented by two hands gripping at either side of his jacket, lifting him up. Chuck felt himself crash into the wall behind as the guard swung him round, causing him to drop the taser. His head was spinning from the impact, but he could clearly see the look of betrayal written all over the guard's face.

_Shit. He had heard._

The guard still had Chuck up against the wall, pinning him there. He tried to kick at the man's knees to avail, the move having been anticipated.

"Wait..." Chuck croaked.

But it was no use, the guard clearly wanted nothing more than to hurt him. He smashed him again against the wall and Chuck felt his limbs go limp as the grip on him slackened and he sank down against the wall.

The guard paused only to spit down on him, before he wrenched Chuck right back up by the collar and hurled him into the control room. He landed hard on his shoulder causing a nauseating crack to ring through his ears, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Chuck tried to sit up, but his vision was blurry and everything felt dizzy, like an invisible weight pushing him back down.

Then hands were round his neck, squeezing. The guard's entire body was on his, forcing his back against the floor. He could smell the other man's breath. The grip tightened and Chuck's vision started to blacken. He tried to use his hands to pry the fingers from his neck, but the hateful face above his was slowly darkening...

He had maybe ten seconds left of consciousness, and there was a small tired part of him that welcomed what would probably come after. He deserved as much.

But Sarah.

She didn't.

He had failed her.

He tried to save her and failed.

The guard was completely atop of him now, pushing him further into the floor, causing a familiar metallic weight to dig into his back.

Five seconds.

# # #

Time had faded away again.

Cooper was in her room, and she was vaguely aware that he was talking to her. Earlier, he had forced her to look at the knife, at its sharp edges. She'd had to listen as he rambled on about the all things he was going to do to her with it, his mouth frothing the entire time. Then he'd left her vision and she'd allowed her good eye to fall back shut.

She'd felt it as he cut at the back of her shirt, before starting to snake the knife down her shoulder blade. It tingled only slightly to begin with. Then blood had been drawn and she'd sub-consciously bit her lip to conceal her scream, a small part of her still determined to resist. That part was getting ever smaller.

The brief respite that Chuck had given her felt as if had been an age ago. And now, more than anything, Sarah was tired. Things didn't even hurt anymore, not really. Not that much. The slither of hope that Chuck had given her was gone, consumed by the deep tiredness within her. The tiredness that just wanted everything to go away.

She didn't blame Chuck, not anymore at least. He knew he couldn't keep his promise. He was undercover; that was his mission. It was her screw up that had landed her here. No-one else's. She hadn't given up, so to speak. She had just accepted that this was her fate. Although, she was glad that Chuck wasn't a traitor, that he'd come to see her. It had been nice to look into those eyes one last time.

Then something cut across the sound of Cooper's voice, a new sound. It sounded different. She strained her ears against her interrogator's questions to get a fix on it. Metal. Rusty metal. Like a key in a lock.

"I _told _you I was to be left alone!" she heard Cooper's voice say from behind her.

Sarah opened her eyes just in time to see the door swing open, the tall blurry figure behind it slowly coming into focus and dragging her back from her detached reality, straight into disbelief.

"Get away from her," Chuck demanded, levelling a gun at Cooper. His eyes were darting from her to the knife, before finally settling on Cooper.

Chuck looked _bad. _He was panting heavily and there were ugly red marks all around his neck. But his steady grip on the gun never wavered.

"Carmichael," Cooper's voice said, sounding perplexed. "What are you doing?"

"I said, get _the fuck_ away from her," Chuck repeated, seething anger barely concealed.

Sarah couldn't look away from him, just standing there. Ready. She couldn't believe he'd come back. She tried to tell him no with her eyes, tell him that she wasn't worth it. His cover was more important. But it wasn't working. For the next second, nobody moved and silence filled the room such that she was able to differentiate between everyone's breathing: Chuck's panting, her rasping, and Cooper's slow barely audible inhalations.

Then she felt Cooper move and the metal blade was now being pressed into her neck, his face right up against hers as he used her body as a shield. The blade was only lightly pressed against her throat, not enough to break the skin. But that wasn't enough to break her paralysis. Chuck's eyes suddenly widened and the gun twitched slightly.

"I honestly have to say, I'm surprised," Cooper said, his voice returning to its normal casual tone, his mind having already digested Chuck's betrayal. "But you should have shot me while you had the chance, because now we're at a stalemate."

Cooper was right. There was no way he'd be able to get a shot off and not hit her, even at this distance. She couldn't read Chuck's eyes, what he was going to do. Although, he did seem to be concentrating very hard on something. His stare was fixed on where Cooper's head was, but he seemed to looking past that, as if he was trying grasp at something. Then he found it.

It happened so fast that she barely noticed it and probably wouldn't have, had she not already been looking in to his eyes. In an almost imperceptible movement, Chuck's eyes rolled up into his head for half a second, before he blinked heavily.

"Carmichael? What the hell-"

The two shots that suddenly rang out echoed loudly through the small room and Sarah instinctively closed her eyes.

Silence.

For what seemed like the longest time, she thought that she was dead. That Chuck had missed. That she'd been shot. That Cooper had slit her throat.

Then she heard a voice, reassuring her. The voice was soothing. Maybe this was heaven. Maybe they'd decided to let her in; her prize for not talking. Except it didn't sound like the divine voice of any god. It didn't sound like soothing voice of her long dead mother, telling her everything was okay now and she didn't need to worry. It sounded like...

"Sarah? It's okay now. I'm gonna get you out of here. Just hang on, please," Chuck was saying, a desperation in his voice.

Sarah opened her one good eye to the scene in front of her. Cooper was lying dead on the floor beside her, two bullet holes in his head. His hand was still clutching the knife with her fresh blood on it.

And there was Chuck.

She couldn't see his face as he had keys in hand and was fumbling with the manacles locking her wrists in place, freeing her.

"I'm sorry, I should've got to you to sooner only..." Only his words weren't sinking in anymore as her mind's need to fight began to lift, three days of resistance fading.

Then her arms were hers once again as the locks clicked open, and a small smile crept up on her face as she fell, unconsciously, into Chuck's arms. Into the warmth.

# # #

Chuck didn't see the expression on Sarah's face and was only just able to step back in time to catch her as the worn-out CIA agent collapsed onto him. The first thing he noticed as he caught her light frame was that she was cold. Very cold. He hadn't noticed that when he'd been in here before. The second thing was that she wasn't conscious. This was hardly surprising, and he hadn't expected her to be able to walk out of here anyway. He lifted her up with both his arms and pulled her as close as he could towards him, keeping her warm.

The smell of cordite was still fresh, keeping him ever conscious of Cooper's dead body. Not that he needed reminding of another death that he was responsible for; the shock would see to that. He couldn't believed he had made that shot. After having been buried in his sub-conscious for more than a week, the Intersect had come through for him. It had helped him save Sarah. It had helped him kill. Again. Regardless, Cooper was dead now and Sarah wasn't. There would be plenty of time to berate himself later. Right now, he needed to get Sarah out of here.

He left the cell and started back down the hallway. Even though his shoulder still painfully ached, Chuck was barely aware of the weight in his arms. After what Sarah had been through, his pain was nothing. He cradled her head to his chest as he passed the control room, where he come so close to dying himself. Even if she was unconscious, he was determined not to let her see what had gone on in there. She didn't need any more reminding of the monster he'd become, of what he'd let these bastards do to her. She had seen enough of that already.

He moved up the stairs, back through the main room and out into the open where Panzer still lay. He had thankfully not moved and Chuck briefly considered binding him, before deciding against it, not wanting to waste any more time. He crossed towards the _Range Rover_ and struggled to open the passenger door while keeping a hold of Sarah. Brushing the weapon he had confiscated from Panzer onto the car floor, he set Sarah down and strapped her in so that her head was resting comfortably on the seat belt. He then wrapped his jacket around her. She needed to stay warm. The wound on her shoulder wasn't that bad; getting her as far away from here was the priority right now. Getting back to civilisation, where there was a hospital for Sarah and probably a jail cell for him.

Chuck climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, reversing the vehicle back towards the road. Putting the car into third, he set course back towards the I-15 and to humanity.

"It's gonna be okay, Sarah," he found himself saying as the open sand started to speed past his window. "It's all okay. You're safe now. I'm gonna get you to a hospital. Everything's gonna be okay."

And he believed that. Well, for Sarah at least. She was going to be okay. He had saved her. Whatever happened to him now didn't matter. The undercover operation to infiltrate The Ring didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to Chuck was making sure that she was okay. Besides, it wasn't as if there was anyone left anyway to -

"No," he heard a weak voice beside him say. "No hospital."

Chuck head shot to the right, to where Sarah's voice had come from. _She was awake?_ Then he remembered he was supposed to be driving and forced his gaze back to the front. "Um, sorry? Did you say something, Sarah?"

"Yeah," she rasped, gently nodding her head. Her eyes were still closed. "We can't go to a hospital."

That didn't make any sense? Why wouldn't she want to go to a hospital after all she had been through?

"But Sarah, you're hurt!"

She swallowed again and speaking was clearly difficult. "It's too exposed... I'm not that bad... The Government... will arrest you for the bombing...or worse...we need to lie low...get in touch with Bryce."

_Bryce._

That was the reason. She wanted him to help her get in touch with Bryce. That made sense. After what he'd put her through, why would she care whether he was arrested or not? Hell, he deserved as much.

"Okay," Chuck said meekly, not wanting to argue with her. "We'll find somewhere..."

How the hell was he supposed to tell her about Bryce?

# # #

[SOMETIME LATER]

It was the nice smell of whatever was wrapped around her that woke her. At first she'd thought that she was warm in her bed, her duvet protecting her. But it didn't smell like her duvet. It was different. A nice sort of different. Plus, it didn't feel like a duvet. It was rougher.

Then she remembered that she had Chuck's jacket wrapped around her. And she was in a car, driving through the desert. No longer chained up.

_"Une année sans lumière"_

There was music playing, only it wasn't in English. Well, some of it was. Some lyrics were in a different language that she couldn't quite place right now. Her mind automatically translated anyway.

"A year without light," she muttered, without opening her eyes. Her throat was still hurting.

"Huh?" Chuck's voice said, sounding surprised at hearing her voice. "What did you say?"

"A year without light," she repeated more confidently. "The lyric. It's what it means."

"Oh. Right," Chuck replied. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, just the silence was …."

"S'okay. Who is it? The band, I mean."

"Um, Arcade Fire. It's from their first album..."

She murmured in acknowledgement, but didn't recognise the name that Chuck told her.

Shuffling into a more comfortable position, she drew the jacket closer around her and concentrated on listening to the music, letting it relax her. It was something to focus on, a distraction from what she'd just experienced. An escape.

She had so many burning questions that she needed answers to, but right now they could wait. Right now, they didn't seem to matter; all that mattered was listening to the music...


	10. Respite

**A/N: **_Sorry this chapter took so long. I was lazy. Thanks for persisting with it. Probably will be a while until next update as I'm going abroad for a while and have exams. Special thanks go out to my amazing beta reader **DanaPAH**. Enjoy. Don't forget to review. _

**Chapter 10**

**Respite**

**16th October 2007**

**Highway 395, California**

**18:17 PST**

Not having a destination, Chuck thought as he cruised north along the 395, really made time slow down.

They'd left the blood and death behind with the Mojave desert, and now even LA itself had long since passed. Wind-blown sands had been replaced by rolling hills, with the Sierra Nevadas peaking majestically in the distance, judging.

It was to hard to believe that only a mere five hours had passed since he'd taken off with Sarah in the stolen Ring vehicle. The ache in his shoulder had only stiffened in that time and he'd yet to stop, pausing only briefly at the roadside to check on Sarah and give her some more water. During this, she hadn't stirred, groaning only slightly when he pressed the bottle to her lips. But there'd been enough natural instinct there to accept the water. Still – he was worried.

Sarah had been wholly quiet since asking him about the Arcade Fire song earlier. Her light frame seemed to retreat ever deeper into the passenger seat the longer the drive went on, his jacket wrapped tightly around her. What's more, she had started to shiver – almost imperceptibly at first, which was probably why he'd taken a while to notice. And when he finally did, he'd felt a strange compulsion to wrap his arms around her and just hold her there until she stopped, until the cold went away. And then perhaps for some more. But that was stupid. Sarah wasn't some child to be coddled; she was a _CIA agent_, and a damn sight better one than he'd ever be. No, she needed him for one thing right now: to drive her to safety. He needed to stay focused on driving – he wasn't going to be any use to her if he totalled the car. Plus, Sarah probably wouldn't appreciate a complete invasion of her personal space by her former captor/borderline torturer.

So he'd turned the heat up.

It wasn't much, but it would have to do, for now. She didn't have a fever – Ellie had made sure he was able to tell that much. Maybe it was shock – hardly surprising given what she'd been through – but unlike his sister, Chuck was no doctor. He just didn't know. She really should be in a hospital. Like, really. But Sarah's instructions had been clear: no hospitals and find somewhere to lie low. And Chuck was hardly going to disagree with _the_ Sarah Walker.

Even if she had been delirious.

Now, five hours later, the increased heat was making him sweat. Beads were slowly trickling between his shoulder blades and he found himself shuffling back against the seat, trying to wipe them away. The warm car was making it increasingly difficult to stay awake.

It had been a long day.

He'd managed to put nearly 200 miles between Sarah and that _place_, and if it were entirely up to him, he'd keep driving all night and push the mileage closer to 1000. But the distance wasn't what was bothering him at the moment. It was the time. Off into the west, the sun was hovering dangerously close to the horizon, filling the sky with all sorts of blues and oranges, which on any other day would have been beautiful. But right now, the setting sun was problem number one.

Stealing the _Range Rover _had seemed like a good idea at the time; it was built to handle the desert terrain and was loaded full of any supplies he might need. The safety rating on the thing was also through the roof. It was only now that he was starting to see the problem in his plan.

Getting back to the I-15 had been difficult, even for the SUV. The tracks had seemed rougher than before, and in all his haste he'd been careless. This had led to a particularly troublesome rock smashing one of his tail-lights, and were a highway patrol to notice this, Chuck would have a lot of explaining to do. The unconscious beaten-up woman in the front and the small cache of weapons in the back might make it hard to convince the officer to just let him off with a warning. It wasn't as if he or Sarah were carrying badges, either. That didn't mean staying put and waiting for the Ring to find them was an option; he would just have to risk the highway patrols. And hope.

Fortunately, he'd been lucky; the single law enforcement vehicle that they'd passed a couple hours back hadn't given them a second glance. Now, he was far enough away not to worry about the Ring – with the GPS also disabled it would be next to impossible for them to find him – and he knew he should start thinking about setting down for the night. The tail-light would stick out like a sore thumb in the dark and he needed to get off the road.

Civilisation, however, was lacking.

They hadn't seen a car for at least twenty minutes and the last town had been...far. Not that it had really been much of a town. Chuck figured that he had perhaps thirty minutes at most before it was fully dark and if he hadn't found somewhere to stop by then, he'd drive them off road and into the brush. Somewhere to hide. The dry shrubs wouldn't exactly provide much cover and he didn't like the idea of Sarah having to sleep in the car overnight, but it was something, right?

That thought caused him to press down on the gas a little harder. There had got to be something soon, a town, a motel. Anything. With his right hand, he reached over to change into forth and -

Something shot out and caught it so fast he didn't even have time to flinch. Something soft.

"Bryce...?"

Chuck looked over to see Sarah's hand clutching at his, her smaller fingers wrapped around his in a tight grip. He opened his mouth to say something before he realised that her eyes were still closed. Through the stray strands of blonde that fell loosely over her face, there was a confused frown. For a second he just sat there, his hand frozen. He couldn't move. In her semi-conscious state, she thought he was Bryce.

Maybe he should just let her think that... Even the illusion of just Bryce's presence – someone who she probably loved – had to be more of a comfort than his would be. But ultimately that would just be cruel, to continue to let her think that Bryce was...

"No, Sarah." He swallowed uneasily. "It's me...It's Chuck."

The frown deepened for a moment – and Chuck could be feel himself tensing – before she released a deep breath and her expression lightened. Her eyes were, however, still closed.

"...Chuck?"

"Yeah. It's me," he said, feeling a little easier. "It's okay now, Sarah."

"He hurt me..." Her frightened words were barely audible, the collar of his jacket muffling her whispers. "He hurt me, Chuck... Please don't let him hurt me..."

Chuck felt her fingers tighten around his and he shifted his grip so he could squeeze back.

He had no doubt who the "he" was. Who the "he" had been. And whatever guilt he had been feeling then for what he had done – what he _had _to do – was gone. Cooper was dead. And Chuck was glad he had been the one to kill him.

"I won't," he found himself saying. He said the words softly, but there was a strength to them that reverberated through the vehicle. "Ever."

# # #

**16th October 2007**

**Somewhere off Highway 395, California**

**19:03 PST**

Sarah felt the sudden loss of warmth from her hand.

Whatever source of heat that had been keeping it warm had abruptly been removed, causing her whole body to shiver from the loss of contact. Fortunately, however, it was only momentary. She soon felt her hand being tucked back into place under the jacket, where it was still warm. Smiling contently, she once again found herself slipping back into a deeper state of unconsciousness – not quite sleep, for it wasn't nearly as restful, but something that was nearly akin to it. Somewhere quiet. And peaceful. Away from everything. She'd been there for a while now...

It wasn't until the car door closed with a muted _thud _that she realised she was actually awake.

The smile dropped from her face as she found herself reluctantly starting to compose her thoughts. Luckily, her head no longer hurt – well, less than it had before – which made the process considerably faster. Events started to return to her, sporadic and disordered at first, but then they started to assemble, and then Sarah began to remember: the car, the road, the music, the cell, the chains, the fear, Cooper, and Chuck...

The montage that her mind came up with scared her.

She could see the cell she'd been in and the chains that they'd let her hang from, the blackness replaced by taunting faces, all looking at her. But then there was only one. One face. One in particular. She could see her own reflection in the glint of his knife, feel his eyes crawling all over her body, hungrily. Arms hung high above, she felt exposed, vulnerable, waiting for him to...

Sarah took a deep breath; the sudden overwhelming clarity of her memories was almost too intense, the ache in her shoulders and arms serving only as reminders, adding colour to them.

Taking several more deep breaths, she forced her mind to focus elsewhere.

She was alive and she had escaped. Everything else was just baggage.

_Time to wake up._

After a couple of test-squints, she could feel that the swelling on her bruised eye had gone down enough to risk an opening – maybe she wouldn't need an eye patch after all. Too bad, the look on Carina's face would have been priceless. At least now she'd get to see her friend again. That thought almost brought the smile back to her face.

For the first time in what felt like years, she slowly began to pry open_ both_ eyes. Her right eyelid still felt heavy, but she could see. At least enough to let light fill her vision, or rather the lack of it, as it was dark outside. Pulling her hand free of Chuck's jacket, she brushed the hair from her face and tucked the rogue strands behind her ear, giving herself a clearer view.

The car was stopped at the side of a long, single story building, at the far end of a parking lot. The building was obscuring most of her line of sight, but she could see the faint traces of neon lighting bouncing off the floor of the lot. Beyond, the road was almost completely covered by darkness. The darkness that seemed to go on forever...

Sarah shuddered slightly and drew her gaze back inwards.

The driver seat was empty. Chuck was – gone!

Without realising it, she'd already pushed herself up in alarm, which had caused the jacket to slide off her.

Chuck was gone! Where was he? Had he left her? Had the Ring caught up to them and were they about to -

_Wake up, CIA._

Of course Chuck was gone – she'd heard the driver's door close not two minutes before. He'd obviously gotten out on his own free will so there was really no need to – Wait!

Chuck had gotten out. Her hand had gotten cold. Her mind quickly put two and two together and she swallowed heavily at the outcome. The heat started to rise in her cheeks.

Had she been – had she been _holding his hand?_

Holding his hand while she was asleep? Wow, what he must think of her doing that... A CIA agent clinging onto his hand?

God, she was pathetic.

She shrugged the embarrassment aside and hoped that Chuck wouldn't bring it up later – speaking of which, where _had _he gone?

Checking everything was still working, she started to move in her seat, trying to stretch. Wincing at the various sensations the movement triggered from the bruises on her torso, she reached out to open the door. Her arms and shoulders were still painfully aching and their movement was sluggish, but her legs were mobile. The door fell open at her weight and cold air rushed into the vehicle.

Releasing the safety belt, she pulled herself out of the seat and, with some difficulty, started to clamber out of the vehicle. Frowning slightly as her bare feet hit dirt, she managed to stand up straight. Balancing was a bit of a struggle at first, so she moved her feet a little further apart to compensate. She allowed herself a small smile at the victory and making a mental note to get hold of some shoes, she started to look around.

Leaning forward, she could see now that the building they had parked next to was a motel. The neon glow was coming from lighting that surrounded a sign, which said just that. Chuck was nowhere in sight and the rest of the parking lot seemed just as deserted, as well. Round the corner there was another building which looked like some sort of reception and, from the noise emanating from it, a bar.

Concluding that that was where Chuck must be, getting them a room, Sarah reached back into the vehicle and grabbed his jacket, sliding herself into it. It was too big around the shoulders and fell past his hips, but it was comfortable. She zipped it up to cover up the remains of her shirt, in an effort to at least maintain some form of dignity. Her jeans weren't in a much better state, ripped at the bottom and torn in several other places, but they were fortunately intact. Cooper hadn't had to chance to bring the knife to her legs, like he said he would...

Just as she was brushing herself down, something metallic caught her eye. She reached in and pulled a _Desert Eagle _off the floor of the vehicle. It was loaded. She held it thoughtfully for a moment, before sliding it into her waistband and covering it with the jacket.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Chuck, it was just...

"Sarah?"

She spun around to see that Chuck had returned. He was stood several feet away, a key in hand, with a look of surprise, panic, and concern all fused into one.

"Hi, Chuck."

"Sarah..." he stammered. "You're awake – I mean, you're up. Are you okay? How did you -"

She cut him off with a small smile. It was forced – not that she wasn't pleased to see him. If anything, she was relieved. It meant she wasn't alone any more. "Yeah – um, I am. I woke up and you weren't here and – um, where are we?"

Her throat was feeling a lot less sore, and talking didn't seem to hurt as much.

Chuck glanced around at the motel and frowned before shaking his head. "We're, um, somewhere...maybe about 50 miles south of Yosemite – I'm not exactly sure. It was just starting to get dark and you said to lie low so I figured we needed to stop and this was the first place I could find and – was that stupid?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "No, no. You were right to do so. It's getting late and this is as good a place as any to stop..." She couldn't help but wonder why he seemed to be asking her _permission_; they were both field agents, weren't they? He had just rescued her from a Ring compound single-handedly. Surely he could handle laying low? She brushed the thought aside. "There's probably a pay phone for you to contact Bryce – we'll have to wait until morning though, don't want to be here if it's traced."

Chuck stiffened, slowly nodding. He seemed to have forgotten where he was, lost in deep thought.

"Chuck?" she asked. "Everything all right?"

He drew his gaze up upwards to look at her. "What? Oh, right. Yeah, contact Bryce – Wait, Sarah! You must be freezing out here with no shoes and your clothes – um, let's get you inside."

She stifled a blush as she saw him look her over. She was a mess.

When Chuck began to move towards her with a supporting arm outstretched, she instinctively recoiled and felt her right hand reach for her waistband.

Chuck's eyes were suddenly golf balls. "Oh, crap. I'm sorry – I didn't mean to... Stupid, I didn't think..."

Sarah quickly shook her head. "No...It's just I'm a little...I'm fine...really, no big deal."

He still looked uneasy, but relaxed a little as she started to move towards him and the motel building. As she moved, Chuck seemed to ready to catch her at any moment, were she to fall.

A couple of steps later, she stopped.

She gave him what she hoped was a grin. "Um, I may have overestimated my – would you mind..."

He was at her side in an instant, an arm wrapped gently around her shoulders, careful not to lay on too much pressure. She leaned heavily into him and they started to slowly move past motel doors.

"Sorry," she said after a couple of seconds of limping along.

"What have you possibly got to be sorry about?" he asked.

"That you're having to help me like this – that I'm the reason you blew your cover. And I'm all disgusting right now and completely reek -"

He cut her off as he abruptly stopped them and turned to face her, putting both hands on her arms. "Don't ever say that. The cover – what I was doing, it was nowhere near as important as... I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I wasn't _just_ going to leave you there. I couldn't."

She found herself staring deeply back at him. His eyes were full of seriousness. There was a rugged look in them, somewhere deep in the brown, that told her he truly believed what he was saying. There were suddenly a million things she wanted to say to him, to ask him. Not least, to thank him for rescuing her. Judging from the red marks on his neck, which even in the dark were still visible, it had nearly cost him the ultimate price... "Chuck -"

"We'll talk about it a bit later, okay? Gotta get you inside first."

She smiled meekly and they once again started to move.

_Later. _

"Oh, and by the way," Chuck said into her hair, "you're not disgusting."

She let out a little laugh. "You have seen me, right?"

"Of course I've seen you," he said absently. They drew to a stop in front of a door and Chuck carefully set her down leaning against the wall. He looked up as he was fiddling was the keys. "How could anyone ever forget you? Even now you're still like the most beautiful woman in the world, one could kick the ass of anyone within 50 miles of here, hell, probably even more than that and now I've started rambling and I'll just stop talking if that's okay with you."

_Huh?_

He thought she was beautiful? No-one ever called her that...Pretty? Yes. Hot? Yes. Never beautiful... In her current state she felt anything but...Still, strange as it was, it felt nice to hear him say that. Beautiful.

She started to open her mouth to say something, but Chuck had quickly found a distraction with the door. The door swung open and he started to help her inside in a stony silence, all the time looking away from her in obvious embarrassment. The iron clad confidence he had displayed moments before was gone.

"Can you see the, um, light-switch?" she asked in a effort to change the subject as they moved into the dark motel room. His words still swum around in her head, but she didn't want to leave him feeling awkward.

"What? Oh, yeah. It's just here..."

Lights flickered on into the small room. There was a single double-bed sat on one side opposite a sofa. A TV set was off pushed into a corner and at the back there was a door leading into what she assumed was a bathroom.

She knew that Chuck could already sense her eyes on the double-bed. There went her fleeting attempt at getting rid of his awkwardness.

"It's okay," he said quickly. "I'll take the couch. I just wanted to make sure that we weren't separated. Should I have got separate rooms?"

"No, no, of course not. We need to stick together and be ready to go at a moment's notice."

"I'll be a perfect gentlemen, I swear," he quickly added, letting go of her so he could close the door.

She almost said that she knew he would before deciding against it.

With some difficulty, Sarah started to move herself over to the couch and sat down on the arm. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I mean, the bed is big enough for two...I don't mind sharing."

Chuck spun around on his heel, his wide-eyed expression dropped for a second as he realised she'd managed to move over to the couch on her own. He quickly shook his head. "No, its fine. Honestly. You take the bed. It's yours...after everything you've been through...I'm planning on keeping watch, anyway."

"Keeping watch?" She cocked at eyebrow at him, made harder than usual by the swelling on her eye. "Chuck, I don't think we need to worry... We're miles away, no-one's gonna find us here."

He moved over to the bed and sat down, hands in his lap. "I know," he said quietly. "I just want to make sure you're safe. Just in case."

Sarah nodded and looked away. He wanted to make sure she was safe. He'd saved her, told her she was beautiful, and now wanted to make sure she was safe. Just in case. She could already tell that Chuck wasn't like other agents or even other guys. This wasn't some testosterone-fuelled saviour complex; he genuinely wanted to just make sure she was okay. "Thank you," she said, looking up.

Chuck waved his hand dismissively. "You don't have to thank me."

Sarah's eyes widened, making sure to catch his. "Yeah, I do."

"We're not out of this yet," he said, shooting her a crooked smile.

"That's why you're gonna keep watch, right?" she asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Yup," he nodded. "But first, I'm gonna see if I can find some food for us."

Her mouth fell open at the mention of food as she suddenly remembered how hungry she was. She quickly shut it.

Chuck noticed this and smiled. "Don't worry; I'm sure they'll be something in the bar."

As quickly as it had come, the thought of food was suddenly gone. "You're leaving me again?" she asked tentatively.

"Only for a few minutes," he said before pursing his lips together anxiously. "I thought you might like some privacy to take a shower... There's also a little gift shop up by reception and I think I saw some clothes on sale..."

Sarah nodded and pulled her arms to chest. She was being stupid – again. She could more than look after herself for a few minutes. It wasn't as if she was unarmed, either. "No – I mean, yes, you're right. Food and clothes. Good idea."

Chuck studied her carefully before standing up and making his way to the door. He paused to look back. "Sure you're gonna be okay?"

"Uh-hum," she said instinctively. She'd be _fine._

The closing door left her alone in the silence.

Even though the room was much warmer than outside, she still felt cold – it was only now that she noticed.

Chuck was right. She should take a shower. Regardless of what he'd said, she still felt disgusting. The days-old clothes were clinging to her body like a second skin and she desperately wanted to be rid of them, to feel warm, clean water running down her body. But at the same time, she didn't dare take them off, even though she was alone. She dreaded to see the marks that Cooper had left on her. The bruises, the cuts, the places where his hands had slid over her body and -

She was being stupid. She couldn't hide under Chuck's jacket forever.

She really needed to shower.

Pushing herself up, she started to hobble the short distance over to the bathroom. She closed the door shut behind her, but couldn't quite bring herself to lock it. The enclosed space was unappealing enough as it was.

Next to the basin, there was a small walk in shower which she turned on. Water started to cascade downwards and she stared at it for a second, watching as it filled the silence. She stepped back as the steam started to rise. She carefully removed the jacket and put it on a rack next to the towels.

It was _Chuck's _jacket after all.

Quickly shedding the rest of her clothes, she let them fall to the floor. They could go straight to the incinerator.

Sarah stood there for a moment, conscious of the mirror just to her right. A deep breath told her that she wasn't ready to see what _He'd_ done to her. Not yet, anyway.

She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes, letting the warm water rain down upon her.

She could feel it all over her face, cleansing away three days of sweat and tears. She could feel it penetrating through her hair, washing away the dirt and breaking up the knots. She could feel it running freely down her back, tickling lightly as it did so.

It was heaven, pure and simple. A complete unadulterated heaven.

# # #

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

Of all the completely ridiculous and inappropriate things to say, of all the more reasoned responses he could have said, of all the comforting words he could have given her, he had called her beautiful.

Not that she wasn't – Sarah Walker was the very definition of the word.

But seriously, _Beautiful?_

Yep, he was an idiot.

She'd just spend three days in whatever twisted form of hell that bastard former partner of his had decided to put her through, clearly traumatised by it all, even if she _was_ a CIA agent, and one of the first things he'd said to her was that she was beautiful.

God, did she think he was trying to _hit_ on her?

He'd just have to clear things up once he got back to the room.

And with that, Chuck quickened his pace back across the parking lot.

Before heading over to the reception, he'd made sure to lock down the _Range Rover _for the night. He'd thrown a blanket over the weapons cases in the back, making sure that no curious civilian or, heaven forbid, officer of the law, would have grounds to suspect him and Sarah – at least any more than they already did. The red marks round his neck and bruise across his cheek had already raised a few eyebrows when he was renting the room. Fortunately, those eyebrows had lowered by the time of visit number two.

The man behind the bar hadn't been able to offer them anything more significant than burgers. Still, it was food and they both needed to eat; he ordered two. He'd also managed to pick some clothes for Sarah in the gift shop. Hiking was popular around here – or so the shop attendant said – and so the clothing was appropriate. Even with the narrowed range it had still been hard to choose. Clothes shopping was mostly something that had been done for him and he'd never had to shop for the opposite sex before.

He'd settled on a pair of sweats and black T-shirt, complete with a grey hoody that boldly read "Sierra Nevada" in yellow. He'd also picked out some socks and sneakers. Overall, it wasn't much, but Sarah could always come back later.

But clothing was the least of his worries at the moment; he still needed to apologise for that stupid comment.

As he moved into the room, he could hear that the shower was still running. He closed the door behind him and put the paper bags containing tonight's meal on the sofa, then moved over to the bathroom door, new clothes in hand.

"Sarah," he said, knocking lightly. "I'm back. It's Chuck, by the way, in case you didn't know. I, err, found some clothes in the gift shop..."

He heard the water shut off and a couple of seconds Sarah opened the door, wearing a towel. In the brief half second before he averted his eyes, Chuck could see her shoulders and bare arms were covered with yellow-blue bruises. He was sure the towel was hiding more.

"Here," he said, thrusting the clothes blindly in her direction, his left hand covering his eyes.

"Thanks," she said softly, taking the bundle from him. "Am I that hideous to look at?"

"What?" Chuck said, dropping his hand and turning to face her, before remembering she was still in the towel. He quickly replaced it. "No, of course not! I'm just trying to respect your – no, I mean, you're not hideous, you're beau -"

He managed to stop himself mid-sentence, but it was too late. Dropping his hand for a final time, he turned to face her, defeated. "You're not hideous, Sarah."

To his surprise, she was grinning.

Chuck frowned. "Were you – were you messing with me?"

Sarah's grin only widened before she backed into the bathroom and closed the door.

# # #

A little while later and they were just finishing up the burgers. They were actually pretty good and neither of them had complained, even if the bread was a little stale. For some stupid reason, there wasn't a table in the room and so they'd been forced to eat on the sofa. Sarah was mostly quiet, taking small concentrated bites, despite the hunger that was lingering in her eyes.

Chuck was seated on the other side, huddled up against the arm, making sure to give her as much space as she needed. He didn't want to intrude. Sitting there eating junk food, wearing the hoody and sweat pants – which, Chuck was pleased to see, were only slightly too big – she looked more like a student than a CIA agent who'd just been tortured for three days. If it wasn't for the gun-shaped bulge just north of her waistband, he probably would've forgotten that entirely. He wanted to ask her how she'd managed to get hold of the weapon, but that would have been slightly redundant; she was Sarah Walker, she could do anything.

She seemed pretty relaxed now. The joke – or not, he still wasn't completely sure – that she'd made in the bathroom had reassured him of that, at least a little. Maybe now was as a good a time as any to talk about -

"Chuck?" she asked, turning to face him, scrunching up the remains of the food wrappings.

"Yeah?"

"I kinda need to ask you a favour," she said.

"Anything."

She pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to him. "This was in the bathroom."

Chuck looked down at the needle and thread in his hand, puzzled. "You want me to stitch up jeans for you? Because, Sarah, I hate to break it you, but I think they're a little beyond repair..."

She gave him a grim smile and shook her head. "Not my jeans, Chuck."

His eyes widened as he realised what she wanted him to do. "Oh, no. No, no, no, I'm not a medic, I don't have any training...I don't want to hurt you..."

"Please, Chuck," she said, swallowing anxiously. "I'd do it myself, only it's on my back. It's not bleeding, but he – it's deep enough that it could get infected and -"

"I'll do it."

Sarah nodded, looking slightly relieved. "Thank you. I can talk you through it..."

Chuck stared down at the needle in his hand, starting to contemplate the idea of sewing _someone_ up with the tiny bit of metal. He hated needles. But he could push that to one side for now...hopefully. Sarah needed him. "So...it's pretty simple, right? Just like...um, Operation?"

"Huh?" came Sarah's muffled reply as she pulled the hoody off.

"Operation? Board game? You know, with the little buzzer? And really not too relevant to this situation."

"Okay, Chuck," Sarah said, putting her back to him. "You need to sterilise the needle first." She then leant forward and pulled up the back of her t-shirt, exposing her back.

Ugly yellow-blue bruises, some forming vague fist shapes, punctuated her perfect milky white skin. Chuck's eyes slowly rose upwards to her left shoulder, where the skin was broken. The cut itself ran perhaps three inches in an arc just right of her shoulder blade. The cut looked angry against her beautiful skin, and he once again mentally cursed Cooper for what he'd done to her...

"Got it, sterilise the... Wait, just gonna go wash my hands. Again."

Before Sarah could get a word in, he dashed across to the bathroom and gave his hands a thorough scrub in the sink, with soap. Twice. Then once more.

When he re-entered the bedroom, Sarah was still sitting on sofa, not having moved. Her expression was calm. Which, Chuck thought as he sat back down behind her, was being a little optimistic.

"Chuck, you need to relax," she said. "You can do this, all right?"

Chuck heard himself swallow. He could do this. "Yeah. I can do this."

He pulled a small lighter out of his pocket and quickly ran it across the needle. The metal still felt cool against his hand. Drawing himself closer to Sarah, he gazed down at the cut. It almost seemed to smiling.

"Okay, Sarah, needle sterilised. What do I do now?"

"Sew across diagonally, making incisions about a quarter inch apart. Make sure to go deep enough that the thread won't come out."

Chuck looked back down at the needle, then at the cut. He took several deep breaths, forcing whatever nerves he was feeling away.

Placing his left hand on Sarah's back, he carefully leant in, needle in hand.

_He could do this._

# # #

**03:17 PST**

_Crap, six hours?_

Was that how long she had slept for?

Sarah turned away from the digital clock and fell back on the bed. She hadn't meant to sleep for that long. She hadn't meant to sleep at all. True, she had been exhausted, but sleep was not what she wanted. She wanted answers. She wanted to know just what the hell had been going on.

But Chuck had insisted.

After even minor surgery, he had said, patients needed their rest. That was probably the result of having a doctor for a sister. She hadn't had the willpower to argue with him. Not after everything he'd done for her.

He'd actually done a pretty good job of stitching up her back, for a rookie. Once he'd gotten started, his hand had been steady, never wavering. She'd found it a little strange how he'd never sewed anyone up before, considering it was such a basic thing for field agents to do. Maybe there was something to be said for beginner's luck...

"Sarah?" came a voice from the sofa. "You're awake?"

Sarah smiled slightly. He was still up. Keeping watch. "Yeah, Chuck. I'm awake," she said softly.

She saw his dark figure stand up from the sofa. It stretched a little before wandering over to the bed, sitting down at the end.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position and flicked on the lamp. "Rested," she answered simply. Truthfully, actual sleep her made her feel a lot better. She wasn't quite ready to face the mirror yet, though.

"Good," he said. "Everything all right with the..." He gestured to her shoulder.

"Yeah, it's fine," she said. "The stitches are holding. You did a good job."

He nodded with a weary smile, which highlighted the large bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Chuck..." she began. "You really should take some rest."

"I'm fine," he said, forcing a grin. "I'm keeping watch. I've done longer nights than this before...Back in college, me and..." He trailed off.

"I can take over if you want," she offered. "I don't really feel like sleeping much more, anyway."

Chuck shook his head. "It's fine."

Sarah felt her mouth form into a contorted expression which Chuck didn't seem to notice. He really was stubborn.

"Then would you mind if I asked you some questions about your mission? The undercover one?"

"Okay," he said.

Sarah had force herself to focus; the sheer number of questions that popped into her head was overwhelming. She didn't know what to ask first...

"How are you still alive?" she suddenly blurted. She almost immediately regretting the phrasing, but Chuck didn't seem to take any offence to it.

Instead, he just sighed. "You mean with the car bomb?"

She nodded.

"I was never driving it. I wasn't even supposed to be anywhere near it."

"Then who was it?" she asked, curiosity suddenly bubbling over. "The driver, I mean? Whose body was it?"

Chuck released a deep breath and raked both hands slowly through his hair, his whole demeanour suddenly changing. He didn't look at her when he finally spoke.

"I tried to stop it...I did, I honestly did. And they wanted me to go through with it. Graham said to let it happen, that it was for the "greater good". Except I couldn't let it go off...It was going to kill so many people, Sarah, and I couldn't let that happen. I just couldn't... I know I've done some terrible – unforgivable – things, but this...But before I could... _He_ stopped me." Chuck's eyes were watering now, but he paid no attention to them. "I was going to do it... But then it was so fast and..."

_Graham wanted to let the bomb go off?_

Sarah felt an uneasy feeling starting to rise within her, like she was missing some vital piece of the puzzle that was blindingly obvious. "Who was the driver, Chuck?" she interrupted.

Chuck blinked several times, hard, before looking at her directly, remorse written across his face.

"Bryce Larkin."

And then he told her everything.


	11. Friend 'til the Last

**A/N: **_ So. Hello, remember me? I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't, seeing as I haven't updated this story in – Christ, over two months! I have had reasons, exams, etc, yadda, yadda, yadda. Though, I'm sure you don't care about them. Point is, now I'm finished and this chapter is finished. It's long. Longest chapter so far I think, which is why I'm extra thankful to _**_Dana_**_ for getting this back to me so quickly (considering it took me two months to write, two day beta time is nothing). Anyway, I'm not gonna go another two months without posting. I'm aiming for a chapter a week, at least for the next two weeks. Then I go into exile for a while and updates will depending on whether I have wi-fi or not. So. Read. Review. Enjoy. I give you Chapter 11._

_RIP. Passionovermind and Armadilloi_

**Chapter 11**

**Friend 'til the Last**

Previously...

"_Who was the driver, Chuck?" Sarah interrupted._

_Chuck blinked several times, hard, before looking at her directly, remorse written across his face._

"_Bryce Larkin."_

**16th October 2007**

**Somewhere off Highway 395, California**

**03:20 PST**

No.

_No._

_Bryce was..._

For what felt like the longest time, Sarah just sat there, hands splayed limply in her lap, feeling as if Chuck's words had just passed straight through her, not processing at all. Every remaining ache and pain in her battered body was gone. Replaced by nothing, a cold, all-consuming, empty numbness that was all too familiar. She tried to speak, but to no avail; only air came out. As she rapidly blinked through strangely dry eyes, it hit.

_Bryce was dead._

But that didn't make sense. Bryce...He couldn't be dead; he had been in D.C., not hours before the bomb went off. Bryce was Chuck's handler, he was deep cover; what the hell would he be doing driving a car rigged to blow up? No, it wasn't true. He couldn't be dead, because that would mean –

"I'm sorry."

The soft words were spoken so gently that it took Sarah a moment to realise Chuck had even said them. She pulled her eyes from the dark, empty space across the room she'd been staring at to look at him, where he was sitting, watching impassively through watery eyes.

"W-what?" she stammered.

Chuck swallowed, struggling to hold her gaze. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I know – I know you and Bryce were close and -"

"Um, no," she interrupted, struggling to find her voice, and when she did it, was quiet and raspy. "We really weren't all that – He was my _partner_," she said insistently. At least he used to be, that part was true. She didn't know what Bryce was to her now. Had been, she silently corrected, had been.

Chuck didn't seem to buy that answer, and neither did she. His flickering eyes had settled on her, almost timidly, concern emanating from deep within their brown depths. His mouth had formed a silent "O", and from the tension in his arms she could tell he didn't know what to do with himself; whether to comfort her or to give her space.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Sarah nodded silently. She was sure he was.

After a moment's silence, she found her voice again. "Could you tell me what exactly happened?"

"It should have been me," he blurted, catching her off guard, and Sarah found herself drawing the comforter closer.

Chuck noticed this and stood up, retreating closer to the wall next to her bed. His whole demeanour seemed to fade into the shadows of the room. His body was slumping against his dark clothes and his eyes were struggling to break out from the deep bags beneath.

Sarah felt a tinge of guilt rush through her, temporarily replacing the numbness that Bryce's death had brought on; it was the middle of the night, he needed rest. He clearly hadn't slept properly in days. He shouldn't be having to do this, reciting the story of his friend's death. But she held her tongue. She _needed _to know what happened to Bryce, and she needed to know now.

And then her eyes were watering.

_Dammit, Bryce – _

"Five days ago, I found out that The Ring was going to detonate a car bomb somewhere in Glendale. The operation was kept very quiet, and only the top Ring operatives were privy to it, so it was lucky I managed to find out about it at all..."

Pausing, his eyes slowly moved over to Sarah, seeming almost fearful of what they might find. She found herself nodding in reassurance for him to continue.

**October 11th 2007 [5 DAYS EARLER]**

**Daniel Marks' Hotel Room, Los Angeles**

**23:46 PST**

Chuck wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there.

At least for the moment the floor was comfortable, something soft that had been there to ground him as every bit of bottled up emotion had seeped out. The alcohol had made it easier, and once it had started, there really had been no stopping it. Quite frankly, it was surprising it had taken him this long to react to it all, to cry. The last time he had truly felt like this was the morning after his mother had left. That overwhelming sense of hopelessness and abandonment, that no nine-year-old should ever have to feel, had left him broken and vulnerable. But as bad as that period of his life had been, that childhood experience had taught him one thing: to be strong. Ellie had drilled that into him, repeatedly. They_ needed_ to be strong for each other. And so he had tried, desperately. Holding it together after Jill's funeral had been hard, but he had managed. Just. But Ellie had been there for him then. Now it was just him.

A while ago there had been banging on the door, people asking if everything was all right. He had just ignored it, and eventually it had gone away. Even now that he was starting to feel vaguely coherent again, there was still only one thing he was absolutely aware of: the car bomb, and his powerlessness to stop it. He was truly pathetic.

Things weren't supposed to be happening this way; this wasn't what Bryce or Graham had told him would go down. Then again, none of this should have been happening to _him_ at all.

He wasn't a fighter.

He never had been.

Since high-school and before, since the days when bullies would jump him in the school yard, fighting had just never been his thing. That was why he had become an _analyst_ after the CIA had recruited him. He knew that there were probably many more lucrative career choices that his Stanford degree would open him up to, and if money was the only thing that appealed to him, he might well have taken them. But this way he was making a difference. A difference, from a very safe distance. And that had suited him just fine, for he was, after all, not a fighter.

So when Graham had asked him to go undercover with The Ring, it had taken every bit of restraint in Chuck's body not to laugh him down. Him, Chuck Bartowski, undercover? Infiltrate The Ring? There was just no way; he wasn't a field agent. Wasn't that a job for a real spy, someone like Bryce Larkin? And so he had politely turned down Graham's request.

More than anything, he wished that had been the end of it, that he could've just gone back to his life at a desk, where his world rarely extended beyond the top of his computer screen, where it was still up to all the Bryce Larkins and Sarah Walkers of the world to save it. But if he had learnt anything of late, it was that things rarely work out the way you want them to and wishes are only for children.

After hearing Chuck's initial rejection, Graham had gone on to show him pictures of the mass-graves in Costa Gravas. The ones that hadn't been reported by the media. Pictures of the orphaned children standing in front of their burning homes, crying out for parents who would never return. Pictures of the refugee camps that the A-listers didn't visit, the ones where the suffering was too great to simply airbrush aside. All of the ongoing pain and suffering that The Ring had caused, the pain that he could help put a stop to. Because he was special.

Then Graham had told him why.

The entire reason he'd been recruited into the CIA in the first.

There had never been any real choice after that.

In retrospect, he should never have agreed to go along with it. But Graham had capitalised on his humanity – a humanity that was now slowly slipping away from him – and he, in all his naïve idealism, had said yes.

After that Chuck's world had changed forever.

But that was still back then, when pictures were still just pictures. This was now. Where everything was real.

Where in less than 24 hours a car bomb would go off, killing however many civilians in the process, all in the name of politics. With intel like this he really should call Graham. Or Bryce. But he knew what they'd say. _Maintain the cover. _

But there was still the chance...

Surely there was no way Graham would allow civilians to die? As important as his cover and his mission was, the overall point of it was to save lives. Perry had been the exception. The _necessity, _as they had said.

He needed to get up. Now. He'd wasted enough time feeling sorry for himself.

Palming his hands against the thick carpet, Chuck started to push himself off the floor. His limbs were still slightly clumsy from the alcohol, but he was used to that feeling by now. Once he was on his feet he reached over to the small bed-side cabinet and pulled a phone out of the drawer. It wasn't his Ring phone. Hitting the speed dial, he pressed it to his ear and started to count the rings.

The phone had barely rung twice when a voice answered, sounding irritated. "This phone is for emergencies only, Chuck."

"Bryce," he breathed, relieved to hear his handler's voice, and before he knew it his mouth had got the best of him. "You gotta help me, Bryce. This is getting way way too out of control. I don't think I can do this any more and-"

"Chuck," Bryce interrupted, ever the calm ice to his babbling. "Slow down. Tell me what's wrong."

Chuck took a moment to pause and compose his thoughts. As tempting as it was to let his mouth run wild, if Bryce was going to take him seriously, he _needed_ to calm down. People were depending on him.

"There's a bomb – a car bomb. It's set to go off sometime tomorrow in Glendale."

Bryce was silent for a long while before he asked, "Where did you find this out?"

"Cooper just told me. You have to tell Graham so he can get a team out here to stop it."

"Easy, Chuck," Bryce said in that same stupidly calm voice – didn't he _get_ the situation? "We haven't heard anything about this? Are you sure this is right?"

Abruptly, Chuck found that he was pacing. "Erm, yeah, I'm _pretty_ fucking sure." He paused momentarily, considering that Bryce probably wouldn't appreciate having syllables sounded out for him – to hell with it.

"All operatives has been ordered to go to ground – they're planning for this, Bryce. Do you really think I'd be calling if I _wasn't _sure? I know the risks about breaking my cover – you personally made sure about that the last time you were-"

Clearly Bryce had had enough. "All right!" he interrupted, sounding much more worn than Chuck was used to. "I believe you."

Chuck nearly tripped over the remains of his laptop, wincing at what his temper had done to the poor instrument. "You do?"

"Yeah, Chuck. I trust you."

"Then – then you need to talk to Graham," he said, trying to project a confidence he didn't feel. He swallowed heavily, pausing mid-pace. "You need to convince him to get a team down here to stop it."

He heard his handler sigh; Bryce knew what Graham would say too. "I'll talk to him, Chuck. But right now, you need to sit tight."

"Sit tight?" he exclaimed, and then before he knew it he was pacing again. "How the hell I am supposed to just _sit tight _when a car bomb is set to-"

"Chuck! You think I want this bomb to go off?" Bryce snapped. "I _told_ you I'd speak to Graham, and right now that's all we can do. There's nothing you can do about it – we don't even know where the bomb is!"

"No, we don't," Chuck quietly conceded. He was right; there was little they could actually do at this moment.

"Then _sit tight_, and I'll get back to you." After a moment's pause, Chuck thought his handler had hung up when a different voice, one more youthful, said, "Don't worry, buddy, we're not gonna let this bomb go off."

And then, in typical Bryce Larkin fashion, he was gone. Just like old times. Hardly.

With a sigh, Chuck dropped the burn phone back on the bed. Bryce had better get back to him fast.

Even so, he felt that the call had largely been pointless. Graham's answer wouldn't be hard to predict: The Ring was a severe threat to the United States and the CIA was severely compromised by it. It needed to be stopped, by _all_ measures necessary.

It hadn't taken Chuck long into his cover to begin to understand how the CIA worked. To Graham – and probably the rest of the United States government for that matter – everything and everyone were just all pawns in a giant game of chess. A game that demanded sacrifices, where phrases like "acceptable risk" and "collateral damage" were viewed from a purely statistic standpoint. The data he'd managed to upload yesterday was barely the tip of the iceberg in terms of what Graham was after; his answer wouldn't be hard be predict.

At least Bryce had seemed sympathetic. That ought to count for something. What's more, he was also right: they didn't know where the bomb was exactly. But he couldn't take the chance on waiting for Bryce to come through for him – not with this.

Chuck glanced over the remains of his laptop in the corner.

To hell with sitting tight.

Maybe he _was_ a fighter.

# # #

Back at the data storage facility, Chuck had had the foresight to install a backdoor into the Ring's internal servers, purely as a precaution. Of course, when accessed, the connection wouldn't be completely secure, but no-one would notice for at least twelve hours – more than enough time to get in and get what he needed before anyone noticed, he'd thought. It was highly unlikely they'd be able to trace it back to him anyway. Well, he hoped.

By some miracle of modern technology, his laptop still worked and the backdoor connection was still in place. He quickly set up a keyword search using an algorithm that he – okay, he and _Bryce_ had designed back in college to look for anything that could help him pinpoint a more exact location for the bomb. It didn't take the programme long before it got a hit: a county records map of a district in Glendale, viewed by someone senior within the Ring only a few days prior. That had led to the computer nerd, which up until now had lay dormant and repressed within him, breaking through to the surface with a small grin.

Check.

Okay, so it wasn't much – the map covered an area of several square miles. But it was a start.

_Aces, Charles,_ the age old voice said in his head.

Stretching, Chuck pulled himself off the chair that he'd been camped on since the search had started. As tempting as it was to stare the search into completion, he wasn't making it go any faster, no matter how good with computers he was. Rubbing his eyes – he really didn't care what time it was, he had no intention of sleeping anyway – he wandered over to bathroom, hitting the light by the mirror, before hanging his head beneath the tap.

Ice cold water started to rain down on his head, slowly percolating through his re-emerging curls before breaking out onto his face. It was refreshing. He stayed there for a couple of minutes, letting the water relax him, draining him of the days events. This calm, new confidence he'd been feeling for the past hour or so since he set up the search was strange. Strangely _exhilarating_. His over-bearing guilt for his recent failures as a human being was still there, but now he felt different. Maybe this was thrill of _the moment _that Bryce had told him about. Maybe it was the feeling that now he might _actually _make a difference.

Finally, he pulled his head up and shut off the water. The face that stared back at him in the mirror was his own, and so unfamiliar.

Wow, he really did look like crap.

Chuck snorted to himself, finding it strange that he chose to notice this now. He had long since given up caring about his appearance.

A beep from the other room pulled him back to reality. Giving his hair a quick once over with a towel, he rushed back into the other room. The search had finished, surprisingly quickly. Which couldn't be good, it could only mean that..

_Dammit,_ he cursed silently.

No further results.

He stared at the screen, unblinking, just to make sure. When no change came, he sighed; this might be harder that he originally thought. Regardless, there was no way in hell he was going to give up. Maybe if he changed the search parameters of the algorithm...

Wait.

Cooper had said something about making a political statement, and to do that casualties were required. Casualties meant somewhere crowded, somewhere where there would be people. A mall, maybe? No, if a car was the delivery mechanism, it would have to be stationary, in a parking lot, say. There wouldn't be enough people in a mall parking lot at the same time to guarantee enough_ casualties – _Chuck quickly shrugged off an involuntary shudder before his emotions could get in the way of his thought process.

To guarantee casualties, they would probably have to drive the car _into_ the mall, and as fanatical as they were, Chuck really doubted the Ring were into suicide bombers. At least not when their own operatives were involved. No, it couldn't be a mall. They would need a place where lots of people would be on the street all at the same time. If the time of the bomb was pre-set, they would also need to know _when _people would be on the street. Where would people all be out on the street at the same time?

Then it hit him. They wouldn't...

"Shit," he muttered.

Frantically, Chuck pulled the map of the Glendale district back up and started scanning over it. It didn't take him long before he found what he was looking for. The district in question contained two high-schools and an elementary school. Crap.

It was then that the burn phone started to ring from the bed.

Chuck grabbed it and pressed it to his ear. "Yeah," he answered.

"Hey, Chuck." It was Bryce.

"Well, what did he say?" Chuck asked, getting straight to the point.

"Easy there, buddy. We'll get to that."

"Cut the crap, Bryce. What did he did say?"

Bryce sighed. "He said no. He said that your mission was to -"

Chuck almost laughed in disbelief. "That figures."

"Listen, Chuck, I know what he said and -"

"Well, Bryce, thanks for trying," Chuck interrupted, not bothering to hide his obnoxious tone. "You know, for a minute, I really thought you'd help me with this. I guess I was stupid; you'll always put the mission first."

Bryce didn't have a chance to reply before Chuck hung up.

When he called back, Chuck ignored it.

He was on his own now.

# # #

Bryce called several more times that night, which Chuck continually ignored. He didn't need Bryce and Graham telling him what he could and couldn't do; he had his own problems to deal with.

His idea about a school being a target meant sense – if only in theory. Despite several modifications to the search programme, the map was the only clue he'd managed to find. He'd also accessed the L.A. traffic grid and checked the surveillance around all of the schools for any signs of – well, anything. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but he hadn't noticed any particularly suspicious looking vehicles hanging around, and he had yet to flash on anything he saw. Not that he was expecting to; he hadn't flashed on anything for the last three days, since Perry.

That could only mean two things: the bomb had yet to be delivered, or he was wrong about the target. He'd also started checking the surveillance outside other public places too that were within the same area, for anything that might be suspicious. But the longer he trawled through surveillance footage, the more daunting the task seemed; it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, without knowing what the needle looked like or whether it was even there in the first place.

Unfortunately, the Ring servers which he had access to didn't contain any specific personnel information; for the purposes of secrecy, names, identities, and vehicles had all been redacted. Ring operatives didn't know information like that for people outside of their own cell – that was probably how they'd been able to elude the CIA for so many years. Even the elders of Fulcrum hadn't known that the Ring had been puppeteering their operation all along. For Chuck, this was incredibly frustrating: it meant he couldn't just scan through the traffic cams looking for a specific Ring vehicle. Then again, that would be assuming that they even were using one of their own vehicles.

His mind had been toying with an idea for the past hour or so, and the longer his empty searches went on the more tempting that idea seemed, despite the risk. The Ring might not keep personnel information stored on their servers, but the CIA did, however little it might actually amount to. The trouble was, logging onto the CIA mainframe and searching for suspected Ring-affiliated vehicles would set off some alarms, with both the CIA and the Ring operatives that had infiltrated it. But he was running out of options; it was already the 12th and theoretically the bomb could go off at any time.

Chuck swallowed heavily. It was now or never.

Since he'd been "burned," his login had been deleted. Fortunately, as brilliant as a spy as Bryce Larkin was, his passwords were easy to predict. Since college, he'd always used the names of his girlfriends as his password, and one "sarahwalker" later, he was in. As the system loaded up, Chuck felt himself redden; it felt wrong to just label Sarah Walker as Bryce's girlfriend – well, she was, or at least she used to be, but she was also _so_ much more. She was Sarah Walker...

Chuck quickly chastised himself for allowing himself to get distracted. He needed to focus. Starting to scan through files, he quickly managed to find a list of suspected Ring-affiliated vehicles, and narrowed it down to exclude those outside the West Coast. He was left with eighty-seven results. He fed those results into a programme to start a live search through the L.A. traffic grid, concentrating on the area of Glendale he'd found the map of.

It was his best – and probably only – shot to find the bomb.

Chuck allowed himself to sit back in his chair, exhausted, as what was likely to be his final search started. The computer screen told him it was past five, and glancing outside of his east facing window, he could see that pre-dawn was just starting to break on the horizon. L.A. had yet to start waking up. He used to love this time of day, the calmness of it all. Everything just seemed so perfectly tranquil. It was one of the many things he missed about his old life. Whatever happened with the bomb, it was likely that his cover was probably blown anyway now. That thought actually made him smile a little; everything would soon be over.

As he watched the the progress bar on the screen, Chuck felt his eyes start to droop. Maybe he could just close them for a minute. It was okay, he wasn't really in the mood for sleeping anyway...

# # #

Chuck was awoken by the sounded of banging.

Who the hell would be _banging_?

No, it wasn't banging. Someone was knocking.

And why did his back hurt?

The he remembered and suddenly everything came back.

_Shit_, he had fallen asleep.

Chuck jumped up off his chair so abruptly that he nearly knocked the laptop off the desk in front of him. Cursing, he glanced down at the screen to see that it was flashing. Could that mean that his programme had found something? Just as he was about to see what it was, the door to the hotel room clicked open and a small, female voice said, "room service."

He spun around and ran over to the door, his foot just managing to block it before the chamber maid could enter. The woman quickly jumped away from the door, taken a back by his sudden appearance. "Sorry," he said, quickly. "I must have forgotten to put the sign up. Can you come back later?"

He heard mutterings in Spanish as the chamber maid walked off. Letting out a sigh of relief as he closed the door, Chuck returned to the computer, acutely aware that the sun was already high in the sky. It must be at least one. Had he really slept for _eight _hours? He couldn't remember the last time that had happened... What if the bomb had already gone off?

Chuck opened the flashing file on his screen; it was a three minute video clip from a traffic cam. The time stamp showed it had been taken about an hour ago, and Chuck eerily started to watch it. Fortunately, there were no charred remains, no blackened buildings, no people screaming. That could only mean that the bomb _hadn't_ gone off – assuming the pictures he was looking at were even relevant.

Chuck wiped a bead of newly formed sweat off his forehead, and examined the feed more closely. It was of a near empty street, and Chuck was sure that he'd looked at that same street before, only he couldn't place it... Then a single vehicle passed by. He couldn't see inside through the SUV's tinted windows, but the license was consistent with a partial from the CIA database from one of the suspected Ring vehicles. A nervous tinge started spreading through his gut; had he really found it? The location was in Glendale and it was – Oh, crap.

Chuck never been more sorry to be right in his life before.

It was from the street next to the elementary school.

# # #

**October 12th, 2007**

**North east Glendale**

**14:47 PST**

_Dammit, _Chuck cursed, as the clock on the dashboard moved forward by another minute.

He swerved past an oncoming truck and onto a side street, quite sure he'd never driven more manically in his life. Three pm was fast approaching, and he was certain he wasn't going to make it in time. He wasn't sure the bomb was going to go off then , but he'd _slept_ through the rest of the day, and three pm made sense; children, parents and teachers would all be outside, all at once.

He was certain that this was it. Before sprinting out of his hotel room, he'd continued watching the clip. A couple of minutes after the SUV had gone past, a man had passed by going the other way, covering his face. It could have been nothing, or it could have been the bomber, exiting the scene. That had to be it; the location, the timing, the vehicle, it all made sense. It had to.

Now more than ever, he hated the fact that this was L.A.. Despite all speeding and short-cuts, it had taken him almost an hour and a half to get here – and he wasn't even there yet! Chuck had thought about calling ahead, but had ultimately decided against. An anonymous bomb scare to the school would only cause panic and drive everyone out into the street, which was the last thing he wanted. That would also alert the authorities, and it wouldn't be long before it found its way back to the Ring. No, he needed to get there and disable the bomb himself. Either that, or get it as far away from civilisation as possible.

_C'mon._

After cutting a final corner and passing several more houses...he was there. He had made it. The image of the street on the surveillance feed that had been burnt into memory suddenly came into view. The school was still there, just ahead, and so was the SUV. It was quietly parked about twenty feet from the school gate, ominously waiting. Chuck pulled over his own car and stepped out.

This was it.

He sprinted over to the SUV, without actually having a clue as to how he was going to disable this bomb. At least he'd found it; that was the important thing. Pressing his face up against the windows, he could just make out the insides of the car. Everything seemed normal – it wasn't as if there was going to be several sticks of TNT lying on the driver's seat...

A light on the dashboard told him that the doors were unlocked. Chuck started to let his hand drop down to the door handle. He paused. What if opening the door triggered the bomb? Chuck considered it for a moment, before finally deciding he would have to chance it. The bomb was probably rigged on a timer; it wasn't a boobie trap. There was only one way to know for sure...

Nothing.

The door opened peacefully, and Chuck released a long breath that he wasn't aware he'd been holding. At least that was something.

Chuck pulled himself into the driver's seat and started to examine the layout. Even from inside, everything still seemed normal. The fuel gage and speedometer seemed fine. There was no ticking timer on the dashboard clock, only the correct time, which was far too close to three pm for his liking. He had seven minutes. He needed to hurry. The radio was...

The radio!

The radio was not quite attached properly, sticking out slightly at a disjointed angle from its holder. Chuck frowned and hit the play button. Silence. He tried it again. Still nothing. After a moment's pause, he delicately started to pull the entire radio forward out of its holder on the dashboard. There were no wires connecting it; they had been removed. The radio was fake.

Small beads of perspiration were starting to form on his forehead, and he gently set the faux radio down on the seat. Leaning over, Chuck peered into the now empty hole in the dashboard. About four inches back was a small digital timer, only this one didn't show the time, this one was counting down.

At least Chuck had been wrong about one thing, he had more than seven minutes. The timer read just under twelve. Somehow that just seemed to make things worse.

_Dammit._

He couldn't quite believe it; he was right.

Chuck leaned in closer, trying to examine more of the timer. It was surrounded by a small metal case and coloured wires – red, blue, green, white, black, too many to count – that were twisting and winding in every direction. Some of them seemed to lead off into the engine, while others fed back into the main timing device .

He took a breath, willing the engineer in him to see some flaw in the design or least some way to start disarming the thing. There were no obvious screws or points to start. If there ever was a time for the Intersect to work, he wished it would be now...

Then, as if on cue, Bryce Larkin opened the passenger door and sat down.

"Hey, Chuck."

Chuck nearly smashed his head on the roof in shock. "Bryce," he breathed. "What are – what are you doing here?"

Bryce cocked an eyebrow at him. "I told you, I wasn't going to let this bomb go off."

"But Graham wasn't -"

Bryce quickly shook his head, cutting him off. "That's not important right now, Chuck."

"What do you mean not important?" Chuck asked, unable to get over his handler's dismissal. "You mean Graham gave the okay for us to stop the bomb?"

"No, he didn't. He said what we both expected him to, remember? _Greater good._"

Chuck tried and failed to throw his arms up in the air in the restricted space. "Then what the hell are you doing here? Are you here to stop me?"

"Dammit, Chuck," Bryce growled back. "Will you for one minute stop being so dense and just _listen_ to me?"

"Fine, but you better be fast, we've only got about – oh, nine minutes."

Bryce's eyes flickered over to the hidden timer in the dashboard and he grimaced, clenching his jaw. "Graham's dead, Chuck."

"What?" Chuck asked, momentarily forgetting the situation. "How? When?"

"I don't know," he replied shaking his head, suddenly looking much more tired. "It happened sometime last night after I left his office. It's looks like someone's also trying to pin the blame on me. I only just managed to get out of D.C.."

"What does this mean?" Chuck asked.

"It means," Bryce began, gesturing to the hole in the dashboard. "That whatever happens, he's still dead and we have eight minutes to disarm this bomb. So get to work."

"I don't think I can, Bryce," Chuck said. "The design...I've looked it over, and I don't think I can get in. I think I'm gonna have to drive it out of here."

Bryce frowned. "What do you mean, you've "looked it over"? Have you flashed?"

"No," Chuck said, wishing he could've at least managed to do that. "I tried and...I can't, not any more."

Rolling his eyes, Bryce slammed his fist down on his knee. "Bomb schematics are _in _the Intersect, Chuck! You need to flash."

"I know that!" Chuck said. Didn't Bryce get it? He _couldn't_ flash any more. He'd barely been able to do it successfully in the first place.

Bryce's expression softened, and he suddenly looked much more sympathetic. "I know what you must think of yourself right now – what you've been forced to do. What I do forced you to do. But you're a good person, Chuck. You are a good person, okay. You need to remember that. But we're here now, and you need to focus. The Intersect is affected by emotions, so take a deep breath, calm down, and try again."

Chuck sat back in his seat. He wasn't sure whether Bryce truly believed what he was saying, but he was right about one thing at least. The Intersect was affected by emotions. He need to calm down. He could do this.

"Okay, I can do this," Chuck said, more to himself than Bryce.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on the timer. He stared at the wires, the casing, the timing device itself, taking it all in, willing himself to relax. Only nothing happened.

"Bryce...I'm not flashing."

His handler sighed. "Just concentrate, okay? Relax."

"No, you don't get it. I _am_ relaxing. I don't think this particular schematic is in the Intersect."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Bryce, I'm pretty sure." Chuck looked up from the timer. "What do we do? If it's not in the Intersect then we can't stop it!"

Bryce had visibly paled, and when he spoke his voice was calm. "We aren't going do anything. You need to get out of car, Chuck."

"What?" Chuck asked, puzzled.

"Chuck, if it's not in the Intersect, then we don't have time to disable it. The bomb squad would never be able to get here on time and even if they did, the Ring would find out. That leaves us with one option: driving it out."

Chuck nodded, trying to look confident. "Okay, that's what I thought. Let's drive it out of here then."

Bryce shook his head. "Sorry, Chuck. Not you, me. I'll drive it out of here – alone. You've got a mission to complete, remember?"

"What?" Chuck exclaimed, not quite believing what his handler was saying. "You expect me to just – my cover's blown anyway."

Bryce shook his head again, forcing a grin. "Cover's not blown, Chuck. How do you think I found you anyway? You did use my name to get into the CIA mainframe, they'll assume I somehow found out about the bomb plot. No-one will suspect I was working with you, given our history. You hate me, remember?"

This was ridiculous. Chuck looked down at the timer. Five minutes. "I can't let you do this, Bryce. I'm not just gonna -"

Bryce cut him off again, turning suddenly serious. "Dammit, Chuck, just get out of the car. I'll get the car away from here and bail out once I get far enough away."

"No," Chuck said, defiantly taking a firm grip of the steering wheel. "We do this together."

"Fine," Bryce said, sounding defeated. "If that's the way you wanna play it."

Before Chuck could even process his words, Bryce's right fist had smashed into his cheek, sending him crashing back against the door. Chuck's vision went blurry as he tried to pull himself back up. But Bryce had already leant over and opened the door. "Sorry, Chuck," he muttered, before giving him a final shove out onto the curb.

Chuck rolled over several times before coming to a skittery stop on the tarmac. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of the car door slamming and the SUV speeding away. Then he fell into unconscious.

# # #

When Chuck came to, his face was throbbing. Prying his eyes open, he pushed himself up off the road, rubbing his cheek. The SUV and Bryce were gone. He glanced down at his watch; only two minutes had passed – which meant there were three left until the bomb went off.

Dammit, it should be him driving that car, not Bryce. It was _his_ responsibility. He couldn't let Bryce do this.

Chuck began fishing through his pockets for his phone, only to find his wallet was gone. He must have lost it in the car in the commotion. Still, he had bigger problems at the moment. Finding his phone, he pulled it out and hit the button for the only number it dialled.

"C'mon, Bryce," Chuck muttered to himself. "Pick up, dammit."

After nearly a minute Bryce answered.

"Hey, Chuck," he said, casually. "Sorry about that punch. But you can be pretty stubborn sometimes."

"Quit joking around, Bryce," Chuck gritted through his teeth, restraining the urge to yell. How the hell could he joke around now? "Tell me you've bailed out."

"Sorry, Chuck," Bryce said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "Still too many houses around. Need to get it further way."

"You need to get out!" Chuck said. "You've only got – shit, less than two minutes!"

"Yeah, I know," his friend answered, seriousness subtly creeping back into his voice.

"Then bail out!" Chuck pleaded.

"Not yet," Bryce answered calmly. "Not yet."

"C'mon, Bryce!"

_Dammit, sixty seconds._

"I really am sorry for all of this. I didn't want this life for you."

"No!" Chuck said, shaking his head. "No, Bryce, don't say that. Don't apologise. Just bail out, okay?"

Bryce was silent, and Chuck could hear the roar of the engine. "Bryce! C'mon, talk to me, here."

_Forty seconds._

"Chuck? You still there?" Bryce asked abruptly.

"Yeah, I-I'm still here," Chuck replied, fully aware of that his voice was starting to crack.

_C'mon, Bryce. Bail already!_

"I need you to promise me something."

"Yeah, sure," Chuck said, struggling to focus. "Anything – just bail out of that car!"

_Thirty seconds._

"Promise me you'll take of her."

_Sarah._

No, he couldn't do this. Bryce couldn't die.

"No, no, c'mon, buddy. She needs you!" Chuck said, trying to reason. "You're gonna go on missions and you're gonna save the world!"

Bryce gave a small laugh before turning serious. "Please, Chuck. Just promise me."

_Twenty seconds._

"Of course I promise you – now just bail out of the car!"

_Fifteen seconds._

"Sorry, Chuck," Bryce said again. "Not yet – I'm still not clear."

"Bryce, please!" Chuck was begging now. Nothing seemed to matter now beyond clutching the phone to his ear and listening to the sound of his friend's voice.

_Ten seconds._

"Look after yourself, buddy."

"No, Bryce! Dammit, don't do this. Get out!"

_Five seconds._

"You know," Bryce said absently. "She really is a great girl. Take care of her for -"

And then there was nothing.

The connection was dead.

"Bryce? Bryce! Bryce, answer me!"

Chuck could only breath as he desperately listened, not wanting to believe. He couldn't. His heart was pounding against his chest, a drum roll on his ears.

He was only vaguely aware of dropping the phone. His legs felt weak from under him, and he suddenly felt very sick. Nothing seemed to matter now.

Bryce was gone.

And it was his fault.

# # #

**16th October 2007 [Present Day]**

**Somewhere off Highway 395, California**

**03:47 PST**

A stoic silence had filled the room since Chuck had finished his story.

He'd ended by telling her how the Ring – Chuck had choked on actually saying the name Cooper in front of her – had correctly assumed that the body was the car was Bryce's, based on the search through the CIA database. Apparently Chuck's hack into their servers had gone unnoticed; his cover had remained intact, until he'd broken it again, for her, and she was alive because of it.

Sarah was sitting with her back pressed against the headboard, knees drawn to her chest. The comforter was pulled all the way up to her neck, wrapped protectively around. She normally didn't feel comfortable having it this tight, preferring the freedom that came with having it around her waist, but it had somehow drawn its way up. Despite it, though, and all of her other layers, she still felt cold. Or numb. She couldn't tell any more.

Chuck had steadily moved away from her as he had started to talk about Bryce, eventually settling on the couch opposite, away from all the light the bed-side lamp was giving out. He hadn't been able to keep eye contact with her, and now that he had finished, he wasn't even looking at her. He had only hinted at so many things in his story, each sounding progressively worse as he went on: the execution of the doctor in Mexico, the torture, his Red Test.

Her own Red Test had been only two years ago and it had easily been the worst day of her life. No name. Just a street and a place to be. But she had accepted that as her life. She was a field agent. Chuck wasn't – whatever this Intersect was, it didn't strip him of his conscience.

Sarah literally had no idea what to say to him. She'd never been good with words, and with the new found weight of Bryce's death pressing down on her, giving Chuck any kind of reassurance was almost beyond her. He clearly thought Bryce's death was his fault – that _he _should have been the one driving that car, and that she should blame him in some way for it. The thing that terrified her the most was that almost sounded like he wanted to be driving that car, knowing that there was no way out.

And that was stupid.

That was beyond stupid, how he could think that.

She needed to tell him.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't and Bryce was still dead.

Chuck cleared his throat from across the room. "Are you okay?" he asked. He was looking up at her, though still avoiding eye contact.

That question caught her off guard.

Dammit, there he was, doing it again. Putting her first. He'd been so gentle with her, in telling her about Bryce. Right now, she felt like she should be the one comforting _him_.

Sarah felt her eyes start to well. "Yeah, I think I will be," she answered truthfully, hoping Chuck wouldn't notice her eyes from across the room. "I, um, I just need a minute. Clear my head. Lot of stuff to process. Think I'm gonna step outside. Get some air."

Chuck nodded solemnly, and she drew back the covers. Walking didn't hurt nearly as much as it did a few hours ago – a lot had changed. She could still see Chuck eyeing her cautiously as she moved towards the door, ever ready to catch her were she to fall.

Sarah stepped outside into the near darkness, which only a few poorly placed security lights were breaking. Once she was clear, she made sure to dry her eyes with her sleeve before any true tears could form; Sarah Walker didn't cry.

It was still a couple of hours before sunrise and most normal people in the motel were sleeping. She took a few steps away from the main building, across the sandy parking lot, out into the open mountain air. Everything seemed so peaceful. The birds still had the sky to themselves, their song not polluted by the drowning noise of any highway. She'd never really noticed things like that before. Being locked up and tortured in the same room for three days probably did that to a person; make them appreciate the small things.

A day ago, she thought that she was going to die in that room, and she had been preparing herself for it. Starting to accept the concept of non-existence; that the hollow, empty walls and Cooper's sneering face might be the thing she'd ever she. She would've given so much for just one last minute of freedom. But now that she was here, and she clearly wasn't going to die, everything just seemed so numb.

Bryce was gone.

She hated the way things had ended between them, with him leaving that _stupid _note – which looking back, made a lot more sense. Their relationship was never going to work, it had taken her months, but she could see that now. As much as she might try and think otherwise, she had never held any deep feelings for Bryce. She hadn't loved him – not that she pretended to know what a concept so complicated as love was. What she had with Bryce, it was a marriage of convenience; they had been what the other had needed. A warm body to hold on to and a way to ease the stress after missions.

Even so, she had been his _partner._ She couldn't understand why he would just leave like that. Go charging off to try and save the world, and shroud it all in obscurity. Of course, she knew it was just part of the job. But a part of her wished he would have told her about it. She knew it was selfish to think that, to be angry at him. She needed to grieve for him, and she would when it finally started to feel real.

Sarah heard the motel door close quietly behind her, and she didn't have to turn around to know that it was Chuck moving towards her. She breathed a silent sigh of relief; while she still didn't know what to say to him, she was glad he had come out. It meant she wasn't alone any more. It was only now that she realised how much being alone still scared her.

Chuck came to a stop next to her, and stood there silently, looking out at the dusty parking lot. Maybe it was just the darkness playing tricks, but his expression seemed a lot more composed than only a few minutes prior, not betraying any emotion.

After a while he turned to her, his expression contorting into a frown. "You're shivering," he said quietly.

Was she? She hadn't noticed.

"Here," Chuck said, removing his jacket and carefully draping it over her shoulders. He was left only in his stained white t-shirt.

"Won't you be cold?" she asked, tightening the oversized jacket around herself. It felt nice to wear it again.

Chuck cocked his head to the side slightly and gave her what was probably the first genuine smile she'd seen him give. "It's the desert," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Yeah," she said, gesturing around her. "In the middle of the night."

Chuck smiled again before shrugging. "It's still the desert."

Sarah reluctantly found herself smiling back at him. "You can be pretty stubborn, you know."

"So I'm told."

Chuck held her gaze for a few more seconds, before slowly turning away, the smile gradually dissipating from his face. Now that he'd removed his jacket, the red marks were once again visible on his neck, reminders of just _how_ much he had gone through to get her out. Silence filled the air, and Sarah took another moment to take it all in. None of this seemed real.

"When we were in our junior year of college, Bryce framed me for cheating," Chuck said, his voice far away. "Said I'd stolen the answers to some test and that he'd found them in my room. Stanford didn't look to kindly on this, and it looked like they were gonna expel me. Then the night before I'm due to find out whether I was gonna be expelled or not, Bryce finds me in a bar. He said that he needed to talk to me. I was pretty drunk by this point, and after several embarrassing attempts to break his nose, I decided to listen to what he had to say. He told that he'd withdrawn the allegations, that he'd been forced to do so by his _CIA _superiors."

Chuck shook his head in disbelief and let out an empty laugh. "He said they wanted to recruit me, and that he was trying to save me from it by framing me and getting me expelled. But they'd found out and forced his hand. I didn't believe him until the charges were dropped the next day and someone from the CIA approached me."

Chuck paused and took a breath. His face dropped to the ground and he kicked pitifully at the sand before he looked up to her. "I _hated _him, Sarah. For longest time, I just thought that he was jealous. That he was trying to hold me back. We managed to get along at the CIA, to be civil and stuff. But I don't think I ever forgave him. Of course that was why Bryce getting me kicked out of the CIA was such a plausible cover."

As much as she wanted to, Sarah didn't ask any questions. She needed to just let him speak.

"It's taken me five years to realise, but he was right, you know, to try and get me expelled. He was trying to protect me, I can see that now. He was always my friend, and I just gave him crap for it."

Chuck pursed his lips together in resigned acknowledgement. "I just wished I'd told him and – hey, are you okay?"

"What?" Sarah asked, jumping at the sudden change in topic.

Chuck's eyes widened and he stared at her. "You're crying," he said softly.

"Oh," she said, in more shock than embarrassment. She was crying?

"Here," Chuck said, and he gently brushed a single tear from her cheek. His skin was cold against her and she shivered slightly at the touch, but something about it just made her feel safe, reassured that despite all that had happened, everything was going to be okay. After a second, Chuck seemed to realise what he had done and quickly pulled back.

"Thank you," she said quietly, trying to blink any remaining moisture out of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Chuck said again, the words just seeming to slip out of his mouth, and Sarah knew he wasn't apologising for touching her. He thought she was crying because of him. "I'm so sorry."

"Chuck," she said as firmly as she could – this had gone on long enough, it needed to stop. "Do me a favour and stop apologising, okay?"

His mouth fell open, but there were no words. He just looked confused.

"What happened with Bryce, it wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself."

Chuck's expression looked pained, but he eventually nodded in seeming acceptance. Very slowly, she placed a hand on his arm, giving a small, reassuring squeeze.

"And what happened to me, that wasn't your fault either, okay?"

Chuck nodded again.

"And in the morning, we're gonna come up with a plan of what to do. But now, you need to get some rest."

This, however, he wasn't fine with accepting. He started rapidly shaking his head from side to side. "No, no. I need to keep watch – I made a promise to Bryce to keep you safe and I already failed him once and -"

"Chuck," she said firmly, cutting him off. "Shut up. You need to rest. If you won't get some sleep willingly, I'll go and get the tranq pistol from the car."

He considered this for a moment. "Fine," he conceded. "I guess an hour or two on the couch wouldn't hurt."

"Uh-uh," Sarah said, already starting to drag him back to the motel room. "You're gonna sleep for at least six hours, and you're gonna sleep on the bed."

But this point it seemed, Chuck had learnt not to argue.

When they got back into the room, Chuck kicked off his boots. Sarah then realised that she'd be traipsing around in only her socks. A wave of tiredness had recently come over her, and she found herself not caring. Less than an hour ago she'd been wide awake. Now all that seemed to matter was getting more rest and making sure Chuck got some too.

Discarding Chuck's jacket, Sarah climbed onto her side of the bed and pulled the covers around herself. Chuck stood hesitantly at the end of the bed, before he saw the glare she was giving him, and he got into the other side. He drew the covers only to his midriff, letting his arms lie free on top of them.

"Good night, Sarah," he said quietly.

"Night, Chuck," she returned, before turning out the lamp.

There was still some distance between them, and through the darkness she could see Chuck trying to relax against the obvious awkwardness he felt at sharing a bed with her. Maybe she should have offered to take the couch herself? She hadn't exactly given Chuck much choice. Then again, while he currently seemed to be in a phase of listening to her, he probably would have downright refused to take the bed if she took the couch. She waited until his irregular breathing started to still, when she was sure that he was asleep, before she closed her own eyes. She had forced Chuck to take some rest; that was a start.

There was just something about him that couldn't quite place, and it irked her. Something about him was just...different. The last twenty-four hours had only cemented that view. He was clearly someone who wore the weight of the world on his shoulders, holding himself to impossibly high standards. Carmichael or Bartowski, Chuck really was an enigma to her. A enigma she needed to protect, she'd decided. Both the CIA and the Ring would now be hunting for him, and every step of the way, she'd be there, holding them off. It wasn't just the fact that he'd saved her life. The thought of what the CIA or the Ring would do to him horrified her; he'd already been through so much already. They were going to need to stay ahead.

How she'd do that, she didn't have a clue. Everything now was just too overwhelming; Chuck, Bryce, the Ring, Graham, it could wait. The news of Bryce's death was just too fresh, and she never had been good at processing. She didn't want to think about it. Not right now. She wasn't ready.

When tomorrow came, then she'd allow herself to think about it.

One mission at a time.

# # #

**A/N: **_I haven't written enough of the next chapter yet to give you a snippet, but I wanted to give a bit of a forewarning: there will be Casey. The Ring director will also be returning. _

_**Side-note: **Some of the time stamps I have given in the chapter are inconsistent with those in Chapters 4&5 – particularly with regard to Graham's death. This is an error purely on my part, and I apologise. I'll be going over and changing them soon. I blame it purely on the fact that the US has four different time zones._


	12. Trouble with Dreams

**A/N:**_ I know I promised no waits between chapters anymore – I guess I lied. I'm actually in a remote corner of Scotland at the moment doing some field work, and it's pretty isolated up here. The internet's patchy at best. Seriously, I have to walk several hundred metres to get phone signal! But, yeah, the chapter's done now. Chapter 13 shouldn't be too long as I have a few weeks off once I return from my exile up here. _

_Thanks to _**_Dana_**_ for beta'ing this chapter. Enjoy._

**Chapter 12**

**Trouble with Dreams**

**17th October 2007**

**Somewhere off Highway 395, California**

**09:03 PST**

To say the smell that Chuck awoke to was _pleasant_ was an understatement, and that was cutting it lightly. Pleasant was just too bland a word – if words were even fitting. No, the smell he awoke to was definitely more than just pleasant; it seemed impossibly intoxicating and alluring, a combination of grapefruit, elderflower and strawberries rolled into one, something too fantastically complex and perfect to actually be real. And the only thought that was able to pass coherently through Chuck's still semi-conscious mind was that he desperately wanted more of it, a thought his body had decided to act on. Slowly, he felt himself start to shuffle across the soft sheets, closer and closer to the source of that wonderful...

Then, abruptly, freezing mid-shuffle, his awakened mind figured out where the smell was coming from, or rather _who_ the smell was coming from, and Chuck remembered where he was.

_Sarah._

Chuck's eyes burst open in shock, rounding to the size of golf balls, and he was suddenly very grateful that he was still fully clothed – even if his heavy jeans had put him in a bit of a sweat – because he was pretty sure his entire body had flushed red in embarrassment. He lay there for a few seconds staring at the ceiling, just breathing, paralysed with the fear that Sarah might be awake next to him. After a moment, when he was sure all was still quiet, Chuck carefully tilted his head to the right, towards his bed partner.

By some inordinate miracle, Sarah was still asleep next to him and Chuck was relieved to see there was still an appropriate distance between them – although, he was positive it was somewhat smaller than it had been last night. Reassured that his _shuffling _had not done too much damage he forced himself to momentarily relax before he actually _did_ wake her. However, relaxing was easier said than done. It was difficult to distract his mind from _just _how good she smelled – seriously, what kind of shampoo did this motel use? The last time a smell had woken him up it had been from Ellie's cooking...

At some point in the night Sarah had rolled onto her side, turning to face him. The comforter was still drawn tightly up to her neck, clutched in place by a small fist. Blonde hair that was slightly tussled, made golden by the early morning sunlight, framed her perfect features, and Chuck could do all but stare. Her expression was relaxed and she seemed a lot less pale than the previous night. Bruises were still there of course, though they were starting to show the early signs of fading. But from the shallow nature of her breaths, Chuck could see that the anguish and harsh reality from her three days in captivity was still fresh. It had only been a _day_, after all. Maybe he should have waited to tell her about Bryce? There was only so much one person could go through...

Chuck quickly shook off the thought. There was little he could do about that now, it was best to just let her sleep where he hoped things would be at least partially peaceful. He drew his gaze away from the sleeping CIA agent and looked to the alarm clock on the other side of the bed. It was slightly after nine. He had slept for a _little_ less than Sarah had instructed, but it was enough. Besides, she was still asleep; she didn't have to know.

His shuffling however, he was rather embarrassed to say, had brought him dangerously close to the middle of the bed, and extracting himself was going to probably to be difficult. His lanky build didn't exactly put co-ordination on his side, either. Very carefully, he used his feet to push back the comforter from over him, and Chuck instantly felt cooler. Now if he could just –

But he couldn't.

He couldn't, because it was then he realised that there was something trapped between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Something soft. Well, trapped wasn't an _entirely_ appropriate word, as whatever it was had a firm grip of its own. His hand was still covered by the comforter, and he couldn't see beyond his forearm. Chuck frowned, puzzled. Cautiously, he decided to test the waters, and carefully moved his thumb over whatever was in his hand. Whatever was there felt warm and incredibly delicate, yet he knew it was too strong to pry off. He repeated the motion with his thumb, and Chuck felt the object's grip tighten around his fingers defiantly. Chuck swallowed nervously – the thing could move! That couldn't be good. And from the stranglehold it had round his finger, it was only one step away from cutting off his blood circulation and once it had finished him off it would go after Sarah and –

"Chuck...?"

Chuck's eyes shot up to where the voice had come from, away from the spot of covers where underneath the thing – wait, thing? Okay, maybe he _hadn't_ had enough sleep, or maybe his mind was just a bit more willing to accept the possibility that some alien parasite was trying to choke his hand to death, than the reality that Sarah Walker was simply holding it. Again.

_Oh crap._

"Chuck?" Sarah asked again, and he jolted slightly, remembering that Sarah's voice was what had brought him back to reality in the first place. Her eyes were only half open, the right one drooping a bit under the swelling, but she was looking at him with concern, and then he became acutely aware that sweat was started to gather on his forehead. "Is everything all right?"

Chuck hesitated before responding. Even though it was probably his _stroking_ of her hand that had woken her, Sarah had probably yet to realise about their...predicament. When this had happened yesterday in the car, he'd managed to _detach _himself while she was still asleep, and hide them both – mainly him – from the embarrassment of the situation. That was no longer an option. This was going to be awkward, to say the least. Hideously inappropriate on his part was more realistic, particularly after last night, made worse by the recognition that there was a tiny part within him that _really_ didn't want to let go. He wished now that she hadn't talked him into sharing the bed with her – okay, forced him was more realistic. But now, she would no doubt say that it had been mistake when she realised...

"I...I'm fine," Chuck stammered finally, noticing that Sarah's stare had only intensified. "I mean, good morning. How – how are you?"

Sarah's brow furrowed before she gave him a small smile. "Good morning to you, too. What are you..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes moved to where their hands were joined beneath the covers – where they remained.

What seemed like an eternity to Chuck passed before Sarah reacted – though, in reality it was probably only a few seconds. Sarah's reaction when it finally came, however, was not what he was expecting. Her gaze gradually drifted back towards his, where she held it, azure boring into brown. Chuck tried to look away, but he couldn't. Her mouth was slightly parted, lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly, and at that moment she seemed so incredibly small, so precious. The thought of everything she had been through was suddenly even more terrifying to him than before, and Chuck felt his stomach jump.

Then, abruptly, it was over. Sarah quickly pulled her eyes away and withdrew her hand from his, pushing herself back in the bed. Chuck blinked, mentally chastising himself for not doing the same – quicker.

"We should probably get going," Sarah muttered, looking away. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, rubbing some sleep out of her eyes. "Don't want to stay in one place for too long."

"Right," Chuck said, nodding, all the while subtly trying to move back to his side of the bed. "I'm just gonna take a shower first."

Sarah paused mid-way through stretching and raised an eyebrow.

Chuck felt his mouth sudden drop, and he quickly forced himself to shut it. "No, no, no – I didn't mean _that_ kind of shower...I wasn't saying..." He trailed off hopelessly, pretty sure that if he physically could have turned any more red, he would have.

Sarah simply nodded, and Chuck took that as his sign and opportunity to _finally_ get out of the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could have sworn he saw Sarah give a slight smirk as he did so. That was probably just his mind playing tricks on him – why would Sarah smirk at him? He didn't wait to find out.

Chuck didn't breathe until the bathroom door was firmly closed behind him, putting a shield between him and any more inappropriate things he could say – or do – to Sarah. She had, thankfully, not mentioned their holding hands. But those eternally long seconds of eye contact had said everything for her...

Last night she had taken pity on him, allowing him to share the bed with her, allowing him to get some rest. And how had he repaid her? By taking her hand at some point in the night and nearly _rolling_ onto her in his slumber.

He shook his head in despair as pulled his t-shirt off over his head. What she must be thinking...

As he dropped the t-shirt onto the towel rail, his eyes paused, noticing Sarah's old clothes discarded on the floor. The tattered shirt and jeans had been scrunched up and pushed into the far corner of the bathroom, as far as they could possibly go. Chuck's frown deepened as he stared at them. The visible reminders of Sarah's own personal hell. A hell that she was desperately trying to escape from, to forget.

And then suddenly everything made sense, guilt once again freshly washing over him. All this time he had been thinking about himself. How inappropriate _he _had been – all the embarrassing implications for _him_. Now, in truth, that seemed strangely pathetic, and he cursed himself for being so stupid and self-centred. It wasn't about him. It never had been.

He hadn't been the one to latch onto Sarah's hand in the night.

It had been her.

Just like yesterday, she had sought out his hand.

But this was different than yesterday. Yesterday had been a mistake – in all her shock and tiredness she had thought he was Bryce. Last night was different.

From the beginning, he'd felt instinctively protective of Sarah. This wasn't just because of a promise made to a dead friend, or out of guilt due to his association with nefarious criminal organisations, but because it was right. It had felt like the right thing to do. But even still, maybe he had underestimated the effect of the last three days on her, and Chuck knew that he wasn't always the most perceptive person.

As much as she might have been able to put on a brave face during the day – ever the invincible Agent Sarah Walker – last night she had been asleep, relaxed, with her sub-conscious mind active. A place where she couldn't hide from everything that she'd been through, where the signs of the effects of trauma, sometimes difficult to spot, could freely break through to the surface.

_Oh, God._

She was scared.

And most of it was because of him.

It wasn't fair to Sarah for her to stay with him. She really shouldn't be in the field, not after everything that had happened. He was a wanted man, and every second he was with her, she was put in more in danger.

This couldn't go on.

# # #

Since Chuck had practically sprinted off to the bathroom, Sarah left been left alone, sitting on the edge of the bed. Truthfully, she was more confused than anything else. Confusion was something that had been rife in the past week, but now things were starting to get out of hand.

The slight embarrassment at waking up to see Chuck staring at their encased hands had quickly passed once he had left the room. She did feel a little bad for him as he was, no doubt, currently beating himself up about it in the bathroom for letting it happen – believing it to be his doing. Despite her confusion, though, she hadn't been able to contain her smirk at Chuck's word slip about the shower. She liked that – a joke, humour, something to laugh about. It made a change from the last few hours of sleep, which had involved anything but.

Sarah didn't normally dream – at least not like this. But since she'd gone back to bed after Chuck had told her about Bryce, images of her cell and her chains had persisted throughout the night, along with Cooper chasing her through her sleep, ever closing in, and she'd been unable to shake him. There had been another face, too, with him, guiding him as he had pursued her. A feminine face, familiar, and yet one she was unable to identify, not seen for a long time. What's more, she had felt afraid of it, to confront it, and so she had ran faster, all the while with Cooper chasing her, trying to escape. Faster and faster until...

She had woken up sharply to the darkness of the motel room, cold sweat running across her face. She had lain there for a few seconds as reality had sunk in, trying to shake off the dream. She didn't let dreams bother her; they were for children. It was stupid to be _scared _by it.

But it had just seemed so _real._

Without thinking, she had reached out and pulled Chuck's hand into her hers, drawing it close. It seemed like the right thing to do, the only thing that made any sense. Chuck had still been asleep, but his hand had reflexively curled into hers. It was warm and comforting, and it had given her a sudden, strong feeling of safety. She wanted to pull herself closer to him, but for now this was enough. When she had next closed her eyes, the burden of the dream had lifted away, and peaceful sleep had soon returned.

Now, hours later, she was fully awake and left trying to understand the dream, the face, why she had taken Chuck's hand, all of it. The unknown woman's face was what perplexed her the most, why she couldn't place it. What was even stranger still was that she knew she hadn't seen it in what felt like an age, and that last night, of all nights, it had returned to her...

The sound of the shower being turned on snapped Sarah back to reality. She sighed and ran her hands through her hair.

_So much for starting to process_, she thought as she stood up off the bed.

An Agency shrink would probably have a field day with her. She gave a humourless laugh. Despite all the torture and the fresh news of her partner's death, everything with her would probably be put down to daddy issues.

She shook off the thought as she started to stretch. The psychological bullshit would have to wait. Right now, she needed to protect Chuck, and to do that she required her wits about her. While she wasn't at her best physically, she would have to make do.

Her shoulders felt a lot better as she moved them, though she couldn't quite fully rotate them, and she groaned slightly as the movement met pain. She forced herself to relax into it, until it numbed. Her legs felt strong enough to move at a fast walk, although probably still a bit too clumsy to run on. Roundhouses were definitely out of the question, but if required to defend herself, a strong kick to the stomach should be easy enough.

She nodded to herself, satisfied that she was at least partially capable of field work.

Feeling slightly more enthused, she drew her hair back into a messy ponytail, tying it with a blue band she found in the bed-side table, and lowered herself cautiously to the ground. She pushed her feet under the edge of the bed, slid her arms to the back of her head, and gently started to pull herself up, careful not to strain against her stitches on her back. The first push-up seemed to take forever – but she did it. Sarah smiled, and attempted another. Two. A third went well, and then –

The bruises on her torso cried out in protest, feeling as fresh as ever, causing Sarah to groan. "Shit," she cried, falling back to the floor.

Seconds later, before she'd had time to compose herself, the bathroom door was flung open and Chuck came sprinting out, eyes widening in shock at seeing her on the floor. He was at her side in an instant, skidding to a stop.

"Oh my god, Sarah!" he said kneeling down, looking genuinely fearful. "Are you okay? What's wrong? Should I call an ambulance?"

The cries of resistance from the bruises on her chest and stomach had faded enough for her to manage a grim smile, which she gave in an effort to reassure him. When Chuck's expression didn't change, she was about to say that she was fine, only to abruptly realise that he was soaking wet, his chest bare and clad only in a towel, the distant sound of water still running from the other room. He must have practically run out of the shower.

"No. I mean – yes, I'm fine," she said hoarsely, feeling a couple of drops of water fall on her face.

Chuck still didn't look convinced.

"I was just trying to do some sit-ups," she explained, feeling foolish for attempting such a thing when she was injured and scaring him. "They didn't go so well," she added.

After a quick frown, Chuck's expression lightened, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ah," he said, turning slightly red, and Sarah felt herself start to blush when she noticed his face wasn't the only part to redden. "So you're okay then?" he asked feebly, standing back up, clutching the towel more tightly around his waist.

Sarah forced herself to look at his face. "Uh-huh."

"Good," Chuck nodded awkwardly before glancing longingly back at the open bathroom.

Then, remembering she was still on the floor, he quickly offered his free hand to her, which she accepted.

Once she was on her feet, Chuck murmured something incomprehensible and retreated back to the bathroom. As she watched him go, she couldn't help but be fascinated by the way his wet hair curled so much more than when it was dry...

As soon as the bathroom door closed shut, Sarah collapsed back onto the bed and shut her eyes.

Processing was not going to be fun.

# # #

About half an hour later they had left the room, and Sarah was waiting by the payphones outside the reception building while Chuck returned their key. The morning had a cool, brisk feel to it, and immediately upon leaving their room, Chuck had naturally offered her his jacket. She had refused, not wanting to leave him in just his t-shirt, whatever comments he might make about them being in the _desert. _He had grudgingly accepted this. Eventually. Besides, they weren't going to be outside for long, and her new hoodie – much as it wasn't her usual style – did a surprisingly good job of keeping the wind off.

Neither of them were feeling particularly hungry and seeing as it was already nearly ten, they had decided to pick up breakfast on the road, once they had gotten moving. However, before they did that, they were going to need help, logistical support from within the Agency, if they going to evade the Ring, clear Chuck's name and get to the root of Graham murder. Although, contacting the Agency was easier said than done.

From what Chuck had told her, almost every level of the CIA had been compromised by Ring agents. Unfortunately, the information he'd gathered at the data storage facility back at the docks in L.A. hadn't contained the identifies of these agents, and now with both Bryce and Graham gone, knowing who to trust was a major issue. Furthermore, the real CIA (along with a half dozen other agencies) still believed Chuck to be a traitor, responsible for the failed bombing in Glendale. Even with the limited data Chuck had downloaded, convincing them of his innocence would be hard done by – not least because of numerous Ring factions within the Agency that would seek to capitalise on the search.

Equally unfortunate was that most of _her_ Agency contacts were also Bryce's contacts, and would likely be being monitored by both the Ring and the Agency given what had happened with the bombing. Carina, a DEA operative, though she trusted her, was also out of the question, as she was still in Europe and unable to help from there. The only other real option was contacting William Skinnard. The Assistant Director was senior enough within the Agency to be beyond the scope of the investigation of the bombing, even given his connection to Bryce.

Chuck had been reluctant when Sarah had mentioned him, but she had assured him that they could trust Skinnard, that he had been the one to recall her from Italy in the first place, that he had set her off on the trail that had eventually led to her finding Chuck. Still not sounding fully convinced, Chuck had agreed. Though he had insisted that they not contact him at the Agency directly, as calls to the Agency would be too easy to trace, and that they instead use a proxy.

Sarah knew just the person.

"So," Chuck said, walking out of the reception building. "You sure we can trust this Chloe person?"

Sarah nodded to him as he reached the payphone. "Pretty sure. She used to work for the government as a data analyst and was heavily involved in stopping several major terrorist attacks. Now she's retired, but still helps me out from time to time."

Chuck nodded cautiously. "Okay."

"She's got a family now," she added, sensing his hesitation. "She's got no reason to be working for the Ring."

Sarah just manage to stop herself before she also said, _she's happy, too._

Chuck gave a small smile. "Good for her," he said, trying to contain the longing in his voice, and only just failing. "Well, I mean, if you're sure..."

"I am," Sarah said confidently. "It's the best option we have right now."

Chuck didn't bother to argue. "Okay, then. Just remember to keep it short."

Sarah nodded in agreement as she started to dial the number long buried in her memory. It was a while before someone answered.

"Hello?" a female voice said sounding tired.

"Hi, Chloe," Sarah said, keeping her tone neutral.

"Sarah?" Chloe answered, stifling a yawn. "Do you have any idea what time it is, or what it's like to have a two-year-old? Prescott's been teething and I've been up half the night!"

"Sorry," Sarah said simply, aware of her limited time and not wanting to waste it on pleasantries. Though she did feel slightly bad for drawing Chloe away from her son.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter now," she said, still sounding vaguely annoyed. "What do you need? You never did get back to me on that guy you were chasing. Bartsky? Bartrusquey?" Her voice trailed as she strained to remember Chuck's surname.

"Sorry, Chloe, but I really don't have much time. I need you to set up a meet for me."

"A meet?" Chloe asked, puzzled. "Why? With who?"

"Assistant Director Skinnard. I'm sorry but I can't explain why?"

"Skinnard? Can't you call him yourself?"

"Dammit, Chloe. Please just do this for me," Sarah said, starting to feel herself get annoyed. "And keep it off the books. No-one besides you and Skinnard can know."

"Okay, Sarah, fine," Chloe conceded. "But Geez, there's no need to be such a bitch about it. Where and when do you want this to happen?"

Sarah ignored the bitch comment. "Two days from now. I'll contact you with the exact location tomorrow. Just tell him that's he's gonna need to fly out to central California."

"I'll do that," the other woman replied, sounding more serious. She hesitated. "Are you sure everything's okay, Sarah?"

"Everything's fine," Sarah said quickly, aware that Chuck was starting to tap his watch. "Just make sure no-one finds out about this."

Chloe snorted. "Who do you think I am? The FBI?"

"Thanks, Chloe," she replied, unable to contain a grin. "I'll be in touch."

After hanging up the phone she turned back to Chuck, who was still looking at his watch.

"Fifty-three seconds," he said, looking up. "That's not enough time for anyone to establish a trace."

"No," Sarah said in agreement. "We should be all right."

With the motel room paid for, they started to cross the parking lot back to Chuck's _Range Rover, _Chuck setting the pace slow to accommodate her.

"Are you sure it's best to met Skinnard out here, in person?" he asked. "I mean, wouldn't it be better just to call him on a secure line?"

Sarah shook her head. "Skinnard's always been pretty cautious. He'll want to meet you before agreeing to help us – he's probably still convinced you're part of The Ring. I don't think my word alone will be enough. Plus, I don't think he was ever involved in this Intersect project. You may need to show him."

Chuck visibly gulped before paling. "You – you mean I'll need to flash?"

They came to a stop next to the vehicle.

"Yeah," she said, frowning as she turned to face him, "or at least show him some of the data you downloaded. Will that be a problem?"

"Yesterday...in the cell," he said, failing to meet her eyes, "it was the first time I've flashed since my...my Red Test...and I'm not sure I could do it again..."

His gaze dropped to the ground as he trailed off in embarrassment, and Sarah felt a sudden surge of empathy burst through her as she remembered everything that Chuck had been forced into doing.

_What he'd been forced to become._

_Someone like me._

"But the data," she said, in an effort to distract him, "you have a flash drive for it, right? I'm sure we can just use that..."

"Not exactly," Chuck replied grimly, looking up.

"Then where's the data?" she asked, trying not to sound too pushy.

Chuck gave a small pitiful laugh before he slowly pointed to his head.

Sarah blinked. "You downloaded it...into yourself?"

"That was why Graham was convinced of the brilliance of this mission," he explained. "There'd be no physical evidence I was trying to steal intelligence. All the data I managed to get was assimilated straight into the Intersect. Besides, the only person capable of downloading data into themselves this way would be an Intersect agent, and why would the CIA send their only Intersect agent right into the heart of the Ring?"

Sarah's eyes widened. "So you're the _only_ Intersect agent out there?"

"Graham thought it was the best way to keep the Intersect out of the hands of the Ring. Just having the one minimised the risk."

"That's crazy," Sarah said, and she suddenly found she was shaking her head. "All the government secrets are in your brain – what if you were found out? Especially with you being the only Intersect. Didn't Graham realise what they'd do to you to get at those secrets if they ever found out?"

"It made sense at the time," Chuck said, shrugging, before lowering his voice. "He said it was my duty."

Sarah stared at him, struggling to comprehend what he was saying. Graham had sent the _only_ Intersect to infiltrate the Ring, Chuck, an agent with barely any field experience outside of the programme in his head. She suddenly felt very sick.

"Don't worry," she said, trying to give his frail confidence some kind of reassurance. "I'm sure you'll be able to flash again."

Chuck looked hesitant, so she gave him a small smile. "You did manage to save me remember?"

He shrugged again. "Yeah, but not soon enough..."

"Chuck," she said firmly, cutting him off before he managed to set himself on another guilt trip. "You can do this, okay? I believe in you."

"Yeah," he said quietly before returning her smile. "I hope so. Thanks."

"Okay. Good," Sarah nodded. "Now let's get going."

As the two of them climbed into the vehicle and Chuck started to drive the vehicle north on the open road, Sarah couldn't help but hang onto Chuck's words. She hoped that she'd managed to reassure him, though she doubted it. She was already starting to pick up on some of his mannerisms, and she had a feeling that he was just putting on a brave face for her, not wanting to spill his burdens onto her again, having already been so open last night.

Whatever he might think though, she was here with him now, just as she'd had Bryce (and a mandatory Agency psych evaluation) there after her own Rest Test – not that it made her feel any better about it, but she'd had the benefit all the same. Chuck deserved someone too. He was a _good_ person, a much better one than she, and she wasn't going to let this destroy him.

She couldn't.

# # #

**17th October, 2007**

**Unknown Ring Facility**

**12:12 PST**

The Ring director leaned back in his chair, looking round his office for what felt like the tenth time today – and it was still only morning. It was almost an exact replica of the one in L.A., the only main difference being was that it was underground, buried under fifty feet of concrete, though it was hard to tell with the faux window giving the illusion of the L.A. skyline. Regardless, it still felt _different._ Synthetic.

He'd been holed up here ever since the failed car bombing that Bryce Larkin had averted, his stay made longer by the recent news of Carmichael's betrayal.

Carmichael.

Just thinking about that name left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He was still having difficultly processing the concept that Carmichael had been a double. When he joined the Ring, he had yet to even pass his Red Test. Or maybe that was just another lie...

It was more embarrassing than anything else. He had personally vetted Carmichael, stared him in the eye. The elders would not be happy.

In the six hours since Panzer had informed him that Carmichael had broken out Walker from the desert facility, the Director's analysts had been combing through their records, going through Carmichael's movements and trying to figure out what he'd been doing. What he was starting to hear was making him progressively irritated.

Surveillance footage had been discovered showing several meetings between Carmichael and Larkin in the previous sixth months since Carmichael had been dismissed from the CIA, which was starting to make the Director question Carmichael's original dismissal in the first place. His contacts in the FBI had also informed him that a driver's license belonging to one of Carmichael's aliases had been discovered in the burnt out car wreck, along with Larkin's remains. Same first name. Different last name. Bartowski. There was no doubt now that Carmichael had tipped of Larkin about the bomb. But regardless, the failed bombing and Larkin were now a thing of the past; they could be dealt with later.

More pressing, however, was the discovery that Carmichael had been at the data storage facility by the docks, the same one that, only days later, Walker had found and triggered the system crash. It would be highly problematic if Carmichael had managed to downloaded anything from there. Highly problematic, but hopefully containable. However, because of the system crash, they would likely never be know if anything had actually been taken.

Regardless, finding Carmichael and Walker and retrieving any data that they had managed to steal was priority number one. Following the joint CIA-FBI-NSA investigation into the bombing seemed to be the most logical option. They would no doubt be looking for Carmichael in connection with the bombing, and Walker had been _missing_ for four days now. Unfortunately, the Director didn't have anyone on the CIA task force leading the investigation...

A knock on his office door caused him to sit forward in his chair. "Come," he said.

A moment later, one of his senior analysts and advisers stepped into the room, holding several files. He approached the desk, but didn't sit.

"What have you got?" the Director asked.

"Sir," the man began, "we've been looking over Agent Walker's movements before we apprehended her, and it seems that she was abruptly recalled from a long term mission in Italy a few days prior, only a few hours after Graham's assassination."

"Oh," the Director said, suddenly curious. "Who recalled her?"

"We're not entirely sure; it appears to have been done very discreetly. But we suspect it to have been Assistant Director Skinnard. He has previous ties to Walker dating back to her recruitment days."

The Director raised an eyebrow. William Skinnard had a sharp mind, and the Director had once considered attempting to recruit him, but intelligent as he was, he was too much of an CIA loyalist who lacked vision, a old-school law-man dating back to his days at the FBI. Still, this was interesting.

"Get me Skinnard's file," the Director ordered. "We need to find out what he knows."

The man nodded. "Is there anything, sir?"

"Actually yes, there is." The Director leaned further forward, pressing his hands together. "Who's leading the CIA task force into the bombing?"

The man glanced down at the files he was holding, flicking through them. "It's been merged with the same group investigating Graham's assassination, and the lead agent is...Daniel Shaw."

The Director actually let out a small laugh.

_Shaw, really?_

The other man looked slightly unnerved at his reaction, but he stayed quiet.

Finding Walker and Carmichael might be easier than he'd originally imagined. He would no longer have to struggle to move resources onto the CIA task force – something that could be ill afforded at the moment – not with this new piece of information. The cards were already in place.

The Director looked up at the other man.

"Get me the Paris file."


	13. Red Rabbit Hole

**A/N:**_Thanks to _**_Dana_**_ for beta'ing this, who is, as always, amazing. Also thanks to _**_NMH_**_ for all the encouragement and help with this chapter._

_Enjoy._

**Chapter 13**

**Red Rabbit Hole**

**October 17th 2007**

**Near Interstate 395, Nevada**

**16:31 PST**

"Are you sure about this?"

"Chuck, for the last time, relax," Sarah said calmly despite her increasing frustration at her seeming inability to pick a damn padlock. "It'll be fine," she added, gritting the words through her teeth as she forced the hairpin further into the lock that was bolting shut the wooden garage door.

She was no longer simply _just_ frustrated; this was starting to get embarrassing. She was a fully qualified CIA field agent, and she'd been working on the lock for almost five minutes now without success. It was ridiculous. From the corner of her eye she saw Chuck nod rather uncertainly before turning his gaze back towards the road, keeping a look out – no doubt he agreed. Aware of the heat that was starting to rise to her cheeks, she forced her attention back to the lock and mission at hand and not Chuck's ever worsening opinion of her abilities.

They had spent most of the day continuing to drive north along the 395, crossing the state line with Nevada a couple of hours back. This took them out of California, where they were due to meet with Skinnard in a little over a day, and that was precisely the point.

As Chuck had pointed out not soon after leaving the motel, and Sarah had wholeheartedly agreed, the _Range Rover_ they'd stolen from the Ring was hardly subtle. They and, god forbid, the CIA would probably have put an intercept order out on it by now. They_ needed _to change vehicles and the garage that she was – unsuccessfully – trying to break into seemed like the perfect target. It was part of an apparently abandoned complex of farm buildings half a mile off the Interstate, the single track leading up to them not having been used in months. Regardless, they'd spent the past hour waiting and looking for any signs of activity before deciding to move in.

Hopefully, there'd be another vehicle in the garage that they could use to slip back into California. When the _Range Rover_ was eventually discovered, anyone would think that they had continued north towards Carson City. Perfect.

Well, it would be if she could just open this stupid lock.

"Dammit," Sarah cursed as her _second_ hairpin snapped. Before she could stop herself she slammed her foot against the door. The impact jolted through her foot which only served to irritate her more.

She felt Chuck tense up beside her. "Um, Sarah?"

"What?" she snapped, turning to face him and immediately regretted it.

His mouth had dropped and he suddenly seemed much smaller than his tall frame, brown eyes full of guilt – a look on him that she had become far too familiar with in the little time that she'd known him.

But before she could apologise, Chuck quickly forced a smile and held up his right hand, letting her see what he was holding: a crow bar. "Maybe you'd like to try with this," he said, offering it to her. "As much as I don't think we should damage someone's property – disregarding the fact that we're actually about to steal from it – I think you getting some form of cathartic release is far more important right now."

Sarah frowned. _Cathartic release?_ Okay, so maybe the lock had got her a _little _pent up...

Gradually, her frown started to fade, turning into a lopsided smile. "Thanks, Chuck," she said, taking the crow bar off him, feeling a bit embarrassed. As she started to raise the crow bar, she paused. "And Chuck," she said quietly, giving him another hesitant look. "I'm sorry I snapped."

Chuck shook his head in dismissal. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm pretty sure I would have no idea where to start when it comes to picking locks. Besides, it's a stressful situation, you know, breaking and entering followed by car jacking."

Sarah grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't the vehicle have to have people inside for it to be considered a car jacking?"

"Technicalities," Chuck shrugged, waving his hand. "Anyway, don't you have a padlock to smash through, Agent Walker?"

Suppressing another grin, she turned back to the offending piece of metal, and shoved the crow bar down through the small gap between the door and metal bolt. When about a third of it was in she put her foot against the door and started to pull back with both hands, yanking the bolt forward. At first, nothing happened, but that only spurred her on, despite her shoulders still feeling raw from the rafters. She yanked harder. Again nothing, and she let slip a sound which could only be described as a growl.

Chuck jumped beside her.

Just as she was starting to worry her muscles might have atrophied more than she originally thought and she would have to ask Chuck to break through the lock, the wood began to creak. Then, the metal bolt started to break free of the wood and splinters began to fly. Readjusting her grip, she gave one final pull, ripping the metal free, causing both the padlock and the lock to drop to the ground, where they landed in the dirt with a satisfying _thud._

Wiping several beads of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand she turned to Chuck, who had both his eyebrows raised. "You were right," she said, throwing him back the crow bar. "That was cathartic."

Chuck gave a short, rather high-pitched laugh, which he quickly tried to turn into a cough and failed. "Yeah, um, right. Shall we see what fruits await your labour then?"

After Chuck discarded the remains of the lock, they each took hold of a door and pulled them open, letting light fill the dusty garage. Although it was big enough to contain at least three vehicles, most of the garage was empty. Old tools had been pushed back against the walls and there was about three quarters of a tractor sitting in one corner. Nevertheless, their effort to break in had not been in vain.

Sitting in the middle of the garage was an old _Ford_ _F150 _truck. The paint had considerably faded, but it was the same indistinguishable shade of red that her –

"Well, it's a definite change from the _Range Rover_," Chuck said, walking over to the truck to get a better look. "Even if it is a bit of a cliché..."

After giving the truck a once over he looked back to her. "What do you – hey, are you all right?"

"What? No, yeah, I'm fine." Sarah quickly shook her head, realising her expression had betrayed her once again.

Chuck's eyes narrowed, but the sympathetic expression remained. "Sure?"

"It's just..." she started to say before pressing her lips together. Even though she couldn't see why Chuck would care about what had brought up her mixed feelings of nostalgia, she felt bad for holding out on him given how honest he'd been with her about Bryce and everything else. "My father used to own a truck exactly like that, a red one."

"Oh," Chuck said simply, tilting his head, urging her to continue.

"When I was eight, he used it to drive me round residential neighbourhoods and I'd pretend to be a girl scout selling large amounts of non-existent cookies...among other things."

Chuck frowned slightly. "So your dad was a..." he asked gently.

"Is," she corrected, staring at the dirt, not wanting to make eye contact with him. "Well, he was in jail up until about a year ago – I don't know where he is now. But believe me, conning housewives out of cookies was the least of his sins."

She suddenly felt very stupid; it was a _truck_, why she had felt the need to tell Chuck about her father – let alone anything about her past – was beyond her. Though any grievances from that particular past life were now dwarfed by acts of recent years. Still, she'd never told Bryce about her past before she joined the CIA; she had never told anyone anything really _real_ about her.

"That can't have been an easy way to grow up," Chuck said gently.

"It was the only thing I knew," she said. "Back then, it just seemed like a game to me – to my father it probably still is."

Chuck moved a couple of steps closer to her, eyebrows slightly raised. "You know that your father's sins are his, right? And not your own."

She gave him a twisted smile. "I don't think it's that simple, Chuck."

"I do," he said, holding her gaze.

Sarah felt herself blink. _How_ could someone usually so reserved and tentative be so forthcoming? Chuck had spent months undercover with the Ring, had saved her – subduing four of their number in the process – and yet in the little time they'd spent together he always seemed to be treading on needles around her. Only hours ago he had come clean with her about his Red Test, about his inability to flash. And now for him to just be _so_ understanding... It confused the hell out of her. Of course, she wasn't entirely convinced by what he had said – even if a large part of her desperately wanted to believe it. Nevertheless, the fact that Chuck wasn't judging her was something in itself.

He gave her a small smile, brown eyes still full of warmth. "I take it that hot-wiring trucks is somewhere in your skill set, right?"

Sarah had to laugh. She could hot-wire the hell out of most vehicles.

Stupid padlocks be damned.

# # #

**October 17th 2007**

**Pollock Pines, California**

**21:17 PST**

As they pulled into the small parking lot, the sun had long since dipped below the horizon and Chuck was feeling like an idiot for a number of reasons.

The meeting with Skinnard was drawing ever closer, and he had yet to start feeling any closer to flashing. Not that he'd had much time to try and flash recently; most of the day had been spent driving. He wasn't even sure _how _he would go about trying, and the very thought of it proved to be daunting. Sarah had told him that morning that she believed he could do it, but as much as that warmed him inside, he didn't share her confidence. She probably wouldn't feel that way if she knew the full extent of it all.

The consequences of what would happen to him were he not able to flash and prove the existence of both the Intersect and his undercover mission were becoming increasing stark, as were they – more worryingly – for Sarah. Her association with him alone could not only lead the CIA to accuse her of being a traitor, but potentially back into the hands of the Ring, and that scared the hell out of him. Even _if_ this thing with Skinnard did pan out, his presence with her just put her in more danger. He needed to find some way to talk to her about this, but so far he had yet to find his chance.

After Sarah had hot-wired the car with another hairpin (seriously, he couldn't understand where she got them all from), they'd emptied the _Range Rover _of its small cache of weapons before hiding the vehicle in the garage. Once they had gotten going, other than telling him to head back west towards California, Sarah had reverted into silence, spending most of the journey pouring over maps. Her body language was near impossible to read, particularly while he was driving, and Chuck had thought that distracting her didn't seem like the best of ideas.

Having mutually agreed that it was time to stop for the night and regather, they had pulled off the 50 on the outskirts of Pollock Pines, just outside Eldorado National Forest. Neither of them had eaten since breakfast – which had been a particularly unsatisfying attempt at a continental – as clearing the windy, mountainous roads that hugged the state border had taken longer than expected, leaving Chuck feeling worn from driving.

However before they went in search of something to eat, Sarah had suggested that they stop at a store and collect some essentials. Here, Chuck had finally managed to buy a replacement shirt for his old blood-stained white one along with a couple of spares, some underwear and new jeans. Equally, by the time they left, Sarah had changed into a new simple-but-practical blouse, jeans and a dark brown jacket. She had also come out with a couple of extra bags to small to contain clothes.

That was the final reason he was feeling like an idiot; inside had been concealer and various other make-up that Sarah had insisted he wear over his bruises to cover them, which she applied expertly in the car. Admittedly Sarah was wearing some too, much more than him, as her injuries were far more extensive. Fortunately, though, by now her eyelid was only slightly drooping – barely noticeable even.

"You getting out?" Sarah asked, dragging him from his thoughts and simultaneously alerting him to the fact that at some point he'd parked the vehicle.

"Yeah, sorry," Chuck quickly muttered while unbuckling his safety belt. "Just got a little distracted."

Sarah looked away as she got out, grinning. "I'll bet."

The diner they had chosen was a quiet place, and only a few patrons were inside when they entered. A family of four happily eating obliviously in a corner, and a couple of weathered-looking travellers drinking beers at the bar. No waitress was around so they took the table nearest the door. Just as Chuck started to flick through the menu, Sarah laid the map she'd been looking over down on the table.

"I've been looking for places where we can meet Skinnard," she said, lowering her voice. "And I've come up with three suitable locations that are close enough to Sacramento to get to in short notice."

She pointed to three locations on the map, her finger lingering on the last one. "I reckon this is probably our best shot," she said. "Bakersville. Fifty miles south-east of Sacramento. One road in, one road out. Enough tree cover should we need to make a run for it." She bit her lip before looking up at him seriously. "What do you think?"

Chuck quickly glanced down at the map, not really paying any attention to where Sarah was pointing, but trying to focus instead on her reaction. "Looks good," he said simply.

"Good," Sarah said, giving him a small smile in agreement before stuffing the map back under the table.

"Okay," Chuck said, trying to hide his fidgeting hands under the table. "So, um, are we gonna call your friend Chloe and have her pass this location on to Skinnard?"

Sarah started to open her mouth to say something, her expression pained, but the waitress had apparently chosen that exact moment to appear from wherever she'd been hiding. She placed a couple of glasses of water in front of them and sighed.

"Sorry about the wait," the girl said, sounding slightly flustered. "It's been a hell of a day."

"You have no idea," Sarah muttered, shaking her head slightly.

The girl widened her eyes for a moment, stealing a disapproving glance in Chuck's direction before she seemed to remember where she was and asked for their order. After a quick scan through the menu, Chuck ordered a pizza and Sarah asked for the chicken. The waitress forced a smile and promised their food wouldn't be long before disappearing again. Sarah waited for a few minutes after the waitress had left, looking hesitant to continue, before she finally spoke.

"Chuck," she said seriously. "I know the sacrifices you've made for the Agency and...well, for me personally, and I really don't mean to patronise you when I say this, but there's something that you need to understand, okay?"

Sarah bit her lip again. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Chloe and Assistant Director Skinnard... They're not my friends, Chuck. They're my contacts," she said seriously. "And while I trust them implicitly, we have to be pragmatic about the situation."

Surprisingly, Chuck found himself smiling. Though he was sure it didn't continue to his eyes. "Trust me, by now I know the difference."

Sarah looked up at him from across the table, eyes still wide and serious, before her hand started to slowly move towards him and a couple of her fingers began to casually brush against his. "I do trust you, Chuck."

Chuck clenched his jaw, and he had to force himself not to stare at his hand and focus on her face – although he could still feel the small circles that her fingers were starting to trace against against him.

_I do trust you._ Those words echoed through his head. Hearing Sarah say them did more than just _reassure_ him. Hearing her say those words made a part of him feel like he could do anything, a part big enough to temporarily drown out the realist in him that was screaming he had to get away from Sarah, to protect her.

Sarah pulled her hand back and took a small sip of water, before clearing her throat meaningfully. "And to answer your question, no, we won't call her yet. Bakersville is only a few hours drive from here. If we get there by early afternoon we'll be able to scout the place beforehand and still have enough time to call Chloe and give Skinnard enough forewarning to meet us there the next day."

"About that," Chuck said, swallowing nervously. "If I'm not able to flash, things could get problematic." Chuck paused. He knew what he should say next: tell Sarah it wasn't safe for her to be with him – what he'd been meaning to say all day. But he couldn't. Not after what she'd just said to him. "What do we do if that happens?" he asked instead.

"I'm not sure yet," Sarah said, her fingers idly moving around the rim of her glass. "Getting the Intersect working again is probably our best bet. I thought that maybe tonight you could talk me through the process of – um, flashing? Maybe if we went over all the steps..." She trailed off and took another drink water.

Chuck nodded, trying to seem enthusiastic and project a confidence he didn't feel. "Yeah, seems like a good idea."

Sarah gave him another one of her small smiles – god, he loved her smiles – before turning her attention to the waitress who was just arriving with their food.

Despite Sarah's belief in his ability to flash, the thought of attempting to use the Intersect again scared him more than he was willing to admit. Each of the last two times he had used it, someone had ended up dead.

By his hand.

# # #

**October 17th 2007**

**Motel, Pollock Pines, California**

**22:10 PST**

Half an hour later they had finished eating, taking the short drive down the street to the nights designated motel. It was still on the outskirts of town, out of sight of the main road, and from the outside seemed more run down that the previous nights stay. It wasn't that money was an issue; they still had just under two thousand dollars left from what had been in the _Range Rover,_ enough to get them by until they had access to CIA resources again, but they were, after all, staying under the radar, and that meant dingy motels.

"I'll see if they have a twin room," Chuck muttered, starting to move towards the office.

"Huh?" Sarah said from behind him. He turned on the spot to see that Sarah was looking at him quizzically, an eyebrow raised. "A twin room?" she repeated.

"Um, yeah," Chuck said, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, after this morning I didn't wanna presume anything and..."

Sarah turned only the palest shade of pink at the mention of what had happened this morning before frowning. "Chuck, our cover is a _couple_," she said. "Couples don't exactly ask for twin rooms."

"Right, of course they don't" he said, trying to convince himself that sharing a bed with an attractive female agent was standard Agency practice – and did she just say _couple?_ "I'll go and see if they have, erm, a double room then."

They _did _have a double room available, in fact they had several as the tourist season was now nearly over, and the one that they were given had pretty much the same layout as the one the previous night. The only major difference being that the TV appeared to be a relic from the eighties, old enough to make Chuck cringe slightly. But other than to quickly check the local news and see if their pictures came up under any fugitive banners, neither of them felt like watching it anyway.

Sarah took the first shower, and Chuck insisted that she not worry about using up the hot water and take as long as she wanted. Regardless, she had emerged less than fifteen minutes later in a new tank top and jeans _sans_ make-up, and Chuck's had eyes briefly fluttered across the now fading bruises on her face and bare shoulders. Thankfully, her stitches had held and her cut appeared to be healing nicely.

After Chuck had quickly showered and changed, he'd found Sarah sitting cross-legged on one end of the double bed, waiting for him.

"Good shower?" she asked.

Chuck quickly nodded. "Yeah. It felt nice to wash off the drive."

"Tell me about it," she said before sighing and patting the part of the bed opposite her, and Chuck suddenly knew what was coming. Wordlessly he walked over the bed and mirrored her position.

"So, um, I know this is a little weird," Sarah said shyly. "But I thought that maybe we could start working on your inability to perform – I mean, you know, with the Intersect."

"Yeah," he said, his throat suddenly dry as he tried to ignore the unintentional double entendre. "Although I'm not really sure what we could do about it..."

Sarah smiled at him, and he tried not to avert her gaze. "Maybe we should talk a little first," she said.

"Okay, I guess that can't hurt."

"Before I met you," Sarah said, picking idly at the duvet. "I didn't even think the Intersect project was real. It seemed like something that Graham and the other higher-ups would make up just to scare the Russians. The idea of a single computer holding _all _of the government's secrets, let alone there being any actual agents in the field that have one in their brain, just sounds so bizarre – sorry, that was a bit callous of me." Sarah pursed her lips together. "So you'll have to forgive me, but I still don't understand how it works exactly. I was hoping you could enlighten me."

Chuck gave a half-shrug before shaking his head. "To be honest, I'm not even sure exactly how it works – at least the technical details of it, which are way beyond me. Practically, it's sort of hard to describe. I mean, it gives me these flashes of data depending on the situation I'm in."

Sarah frowned. "What kind of situations?" she asked.

"Well, a flash can be triggered by image recognition – say I'll see a person that's in the Intersect, and it'll give me all the intelligence on said person." He paused, and Sarah shook her head, urging him to carry on. "Or I can flash on abilities," he said. "You know, things I might need to know in a particular situation: a foreign language, kung-fu, or even how to play guitar – although, I don't really need that last one, seeing as playing the guitar is one of my few real skills."

Sarah gave him a brief smile before her expression turned serious. "Is that how you made _that_ shot?"

_That shot._

She meant was that how he was able to kill Cooper.

"Yes," he said honestly. There was no point hiding it.

"And you said before that you hadn't manage to flash on anything since your-"

"My Red Test?" Chuck finished, recollecting the grim memory. "No, not since then."

Sarah's eyes were suddenly full of sympathy, but she didn't say anything, not pushing on him to elaborate.

"Bryce told me," Chuck started to say, his eyes flickering over to her, looking for any signs of reaction at the mention of Bryce's name. When there was none, he continued. "He told me once that sometimes the Intersect can be affected by emotions. That when I'm not calm and clear-headed it doesn't work properly, that my emotions can form a kind of mental block to the Intersect."

That sounded much more petty than when Bryce had said it, he thought. Though Sarah wasn't laughing.

"Taking someone's life is never easy, Chuck," she said very slowly. "Even if your superiors have told you that it's justified, telling that to your conscience can be a different matter entirely."

The words sounded cautious, almost as if she was testing them, and for a moment Chuck thought that she was saying them more to herself to him. She looked like she wanted to reach over and take his hand, just like back at the diner. But she didn't.

"What I did back in the desert," Chuck said quickly, aware of the sudden elephant in the room, of how his words might have sounded. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Sarah looked back up at him, her eyes wide. "I know you would."

"I just – I just can't believe the Intersect came through," he said, his voice cracking a bit, trying not to gaze into the blue depths across from him.

Sarah seemed to recognise his nervousness. "Maybe you could go through the moments leading up to before you flashed," she said, smiling reassuringly. "To try and recreate your state of mind."

Chuck hesitated; whenever he flashed before, it was always unexpected, and the first few seconds were always a bit hazy. His frame of mind right before he had flashed and shot Cooper was something that was burnt into his memory, although not something he was particularly eager to revisit – or even sure he could recreate.

"Chuck?" Sarah prompted.

"Yeah, sorry," he said. "It's just that flashing before was different – it just sort of happened. I wouldn't have to actively concentrate on it or anything. I'd just see something and flash on it, or the Intersect would know how to react in a certain situation. After my Red Test it just...well, stopped. I stopped flashing. And then in the desert, everything was just so...chaotic. I had just..." Chuck let his voice trail before he finished the sentence. He couldn't quite bring himself to say _shot someone else._ Not to Sarah.

"And you were in that room," he continued, "With _him, _and then he had the knife to you and I just wanted to scream. So badly I wanted to scream. But I couldn't, and then he wasn't going to let you go and everything suddenly seemed so clear. I knew what I had to do; I had to flash. It was the only way to stop him. I had to flash. And somehow I did, and well, you know the rest..."

Sarah's eyes never left him as he spoke, and she seemed to be studying him intently, her expression once again unreadable. When she finally spoke her voice, although clear, was quiet. "I know how difficult that must have been for you, Chuck," she said.

Chuck shook his head. "Actually," he said slowly. "It was the easiest decision I've ever made."

Sarah regarded for a moment, and a few seconds went by, creating another awkward pause between between them. Thankfully, Sarah had the sense to break it.

"I want you do me a favour, okay?" she said slightly hesitantly, before quickly licking her lips, and Chuck could tell she suddenly seemed anxious about something. "Close your eyes."

Chuck frowned. "Close my eyes? Why?"

"Please, Chuck," she said, smiling nervously at him.

With a small sigh, he let his eyes fall shut. Even though he couldn't see her, he was positive that Sarah was still watching him. He wasn't sure what she was hoping he'd accomplish by doing this.

"Okay, now, I want you to relax."

"I'm relaxed," Chuck said.

He heard Sarah laugh. "No, Chuck, I mean seriously relax. Slow deep breaths, okay."

The irony wasn't lost on him that it was _Sarah_ who was telling him to relax. In the little time he'd spent around her, he'd felt constantly on edge and alert, with very little time to _relax. _A lot of that was just out of the need he felt to protect her and make sure she was safe, but it was something else too.

"Slow deep breaths," she said again.

Outside of Sarah's occasional soothing voice, there were no other sounds to distract him. Even the crickets outside were being quiet, and Chuck turned his attention towards his breathing. In and out. Nice and slow. In and out...

As he continued taking long, drawn out breaths, he gradually started to feel himself relax, muscles that had been aching from the long drive started to loosen, and everything else just felt so much more peaceful.

In and out.

"Why did they choose you for the Intersect project?" he heard Sarah ask softly.

Chuck felt himself frown at Sarah's rather random question. Why they had chosen him for the Intersect was a question he asked himself almost every single day. Nevertheless, she had asked...

"Something to do with my brain being able to absorb and rapidly process large quantities of information. Why?" he said with his eyes still closed.

"Chuck," she said. "Open your eyes."

When he did so, to his surprise, Sarah was smiling at him, widely. She seemed pleased about something.

"Okay," he said, puzzled "I gotta ask – what was the point of all that?"

Sarah's smile fell a little and she tilted her head slightly. "You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Chuck," she said. "I asked you that question in French."

_French?"_

How the hell...

He didn't speak French – he'd tried once, in college, but he'd never been able to pronounce all the crazy word endings. But Sarah had spoken to him in French and he'd _understood_.

"You also answered in French," Sarah continued, still smiling. "Your accent could use some work though. If you used it in Paris, Parisians would probably hate you."

_Answered?_

He'd answered in French too?

That meant that he must have –

"I _flashed?_" he asked, though it wasn't particularly directed at Sarah. "How could I have flashed and not realised it?"

Sarah nodded. "Your eyelids moved a bit right after I asked, but you didn't seem to notice."

"That's so strange, I wasn't even aware..." he said, blinking a couple of times, still in awe at what had just happened. "I guess I must have been pretty relaxed..."

"Yeah, I guess so," Sarah said. When she saw that he'd begun to massage his temple she gestured to his head. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Just a little headache," he answered. Truthfully it was more than just a_ little _headache, but Sarah didn't need to know. "I get them sometimes after flashing," he added in an effort to reassure. "It's nothing serious."

She reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe we should stop for tonight."

Chuck glanced down at her hand before looking back at her. "We could try some more. I think we're starting to make some progress."

Sarah smiled. "I think we've made enough progress for one night, Chuck."

He considered it for a moment, before realising that Sarah was probably right and that he had very little motivation and will to argue the point. "Yeah, probably better stop," he conceded as he started to move off the bed. His legs _were_ starting to get slightly numb after all. "That was a good trick with the breathing thing, by the way. How did you know it would work?"

Sarah turned her head towards him, flashing him a puzzled smile. "I didn't – well, not really anyway. You did tell me that the Intersect worked better when you were clear-headed and relaxed. I just helped you get there."

"You could've fooled me," Chuck said raising his eyebrows, still impressed.

Sarah shrugged, before stretching her arms back. "Well, I did do a semester in psychology back at Harvard."

"You went to Harvard?" Chuck asked.

"Don't let the blonde deceive you," she said nonchalantly, making to move off the bed on the other side from him.

"No, no, no," Chuck started to say, getting lost in his words. "I didn't mean to insinuate that you weren't good -"

He shut up at the wave of Sarah's hand. "Don't worry about it," she said. "It was a joke," she added quietly.

"Ah," he said, turning red. "I guess the class paid off then."

"Anyway," Sarah said glancing at the clock by the bed. "It's getting late, and we have a busy day tomorrow. So..."

"Yeah," Chuck said, turning his head away. "I'll give you some space to change."

"No, that's okay," she said quickly, and Chuck barely had enough time to avert his gaze his time before Sarah had dropped her jeans revealing her long – no, he wasn't looking! But seriously...wow.

She cleared her throat to let him know when she was safely under the covers on her side of the bed. Chuck suddenly felt very conscious of the new t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. He had left the jeans on last night when he went to bed and he hadn't exactly thought to buy any pajamas in the store. Sleeping in jeans wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world...And Sarah clearly felt that...

Coming to a decision, he climbed into the bed and, making sure to thoroughly cover himself with the sheet, started to unbuckle his jeans before worming out of the them. He could've sworn he heard the tiniest of laughs from beside him as dropped the jeans out onto the floor.

"How did you know I didn't speak French?" Chuck asked, not wanting the situation to linger on his...modesty.

"I assumed that being from California you'd probably learn Spanish at school," she said, reaching over to the light off.

Chuck frowned as he watched her shadow settle back down on the bed. "You know I'm from California?"

"I just figured that going to Stanford and having a sister in Burbank meant that you're probably a native."

"Oh," he said, stifling a yawn. "You're very good at deducing things, Ms Walk – wait, what!" The realisation of what Sarah had just said abruptly hit home, causing Chuck to bolt up in the bed, and it was only half a second later that she did the same.

"What's wrong, Chuck?" she asked, her eyes wide with panic.

"You – you know about my sister?" he asked and suddenly he felt like he was back in Mexico, or with Perry in the bar, and Sarah was back hanging from rafters with a knife to her throat – everything was chaos again.

Sarah slowly nodded, clearly unnerved by his reaction. "I went to see her in Burbank," she said cautiously. "The same day that you found me in the hotel room. I was looking for you."

Sarah had _met_ Ellie? Chuck swallowed heavily; that was even more worrying. Only Graham, Bryce and a handful of others at the CIA knew he had a sister. Most of the time he had been there he was Carmichael, not Bartowski, and Ellie had no connection to Carmichael. That had been his one condition for going undercover: the CIA had to make Bartowski the alias; he was to become Carmichael to infiltrate the Ring. There could be no link back to Ellie. But if Sarah had found Ellie right before the Ring had captured her...

"Talk to me, Chuck," Sarah said. "What's wrong?"

"It's just -" he stammered. "Ellie was – I mean, how did you find her?"

Sarah placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "I looked her up in the phone book," she said giving him a sceptical look. "Don't worry, I was alone. I didn't file it or report it or anything. The CIA didn't even know I was in L.A. at that point."

Chuck let out a sigh of relief. "Oh. Oh, okay," he said. "Sorry, I-I didn't mean to startle you or anything, Sarah. It's just that Ellie has no connection to Carmichael. If the Ring ever found out about..."

Sarah nodded. "I understand."

With his immediate panic over, they both silently laid back down onto the bed and Chuck tried to get himself comfortable. Thoughts of Ellie and the Ring made that harder.

"How was she?" Chuck asked quietly. "Ellie, I mean."

"She misses you," Sarah whispered.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly finding words very hard to make out. "I miss her a lot, too."

He was glad it was dark in the room; he didn't want to Sarah to see the moisture that was starting to form in his eye. After everything she'd been through, she didn't need to see that.

"Good night, Chuck."

"Good night, Sarah."

# # #

Chuck lay awake for a long time that night. As tired as he was, he couldn't seem to sleep. Lying there staring at the dirty ceiling above, thoughts of Ellie plagued his mind. Thoughts of Ellie, Devon, Morgan and all his other friends from his life before. The jubilation from flashing had long since worn off.

True, there was no _direct _link from him back to Ellie, and the Ring had vetted him thoroughly before accepting him. But if Sarah had managed to find his sister simply by looking in the phone book...Perhaps he was being naïve to think that Ellie ever would be safe, even if he had gone undercover as Carmichael. Bryce had promised him that he'd watch over her, but he was gone now.

Chuck rolled over onto his side, trying to shake the worrying thoughts from his mind, when he abruptly realised that he was facing Sarah. She was lying on her back, her head angled away so that he couldn't see her face.

She had certainly gone to some lengths to find him. A part of him wished she hadn't found him – not that he blamed her in any way or wasn't grateful, for he was. Deeply. But he couldn't help but think that if she'd stayed in Italy, if she hadn't been recalled, that she'd be safer. That Ellie would be safer.

But regardless of whether Sarah had found him, or of whether he had kept his cover, one thing seemed to be absolute: he would always put people in danger. It was hard to believe that he wasn't cursed; everything around him, everything he touched, seemed, one way or another, to end up dead.

He wasn't going to let it happen to Sarah.

Then, as if on cue, she rolled her head towards him, and Chuck could see that she was shivering. Although she was still asleep, she was mumbling something. Chuck leaned in closer to listen.

"Please...please stop," she whispered. "Please don't...no...please."

_Oh, god,_ he thought. She was having another nightmare.

"No, just...keeping walking," she said, a bead of sweat running across her forehead. "No, don't...please...no."

Chuck drew himself closer to her until he was right up against her ear, making sure not to wake her. Then, with any apprehension he might have felt before forgotten, he reached under the covers and took her hand in both of his, squeezing tightly. The grip he got back was fierce.

"Shhh," he said soothingly, tentatively running his other hand through her hair. "Shhh, it's okay. It's okay now, you're safe."

Initially she didn't react, continuing to only shake. But as he kept whispering to her, reassuring that everything was okay, she began to still, her features softening and her scared words starting to dampen.

Chuck allowed his words to gently fade with hers until stopping, when he was sure she had fallen back into a dreamless sleep.

# # #

**18th October 2007 [One Day Before Meet]**

**Baskersville, California**

**18:00 PST**

With the meeting drawing ever closer, Sarah had adopted an overly cautious attitude. That was why it had taken the better part of the day to get to Baskersville; they had taken the back roads, keeping out of sight, away from any main routes or highways that would have gotten them there faster. As per usual, Chuck had driven. She had offered to split the drive with him – she had, after all, ripped open a garage door with a crow bar yesterday, and driving was hardly a step up – but Chuck had declined. Naturally. If she didn't know him better, she might consider his insistence on driving an act of chauvinism. But she did know him better. He didn't know the meaning of the word. Nevertheless, a part of her still ached to get behind the wheel again, even if it was a sluggish old truck.

It had been early when she had woken up, and Chuck had still been asleep. Barely the faintest traces of any dreams had remained, and she felt like she had slept much better than the previous night. Although, she was only half surprised to see her hand was once again joined to Chuck's. Fortunately, she'd managed to detach herself and exit the bed without waking him. However, this wasn't without sneaking in a couple of minutes of lying there, pretending to be asleep. With him. Just to see what it was like.

It had felt nice.

She had briefly considered attempting an early morning run before deciding against it. Much as she was starting to feel up for it physically, being out so early would probably have drawn too much attention – also Chuck would _freak_ if he woke up and she wasn't there. Even asleep, he had still looked painfully tired, and she had felt a brief wave of guilt wash over her; telling Chuck about Ellie had rattled him, scared him even. It may have been better _not_ to tell him that she'd seen her. Though that would be tantamount to lying to him, and she couldn't do that. Not to him.

She let him sleep until well after nine, and even then she still felt bad about waking him. Though whatever worry had been there the night before was immediately gone when his eyes fell on her, replaced by a lazy smile that had sent butterflies straight to her stomach. She'd laughed when he told her that she looked strong enough to pull the ears off a gundark – whatever a gundark was, she hadn't the faintest idea, but she'd laughed anyway. Naturally.

Baskersville turned out to be exactly what Sarah had thought it would be like: a typical small, rural town in the middle of California, where fading agriculture had been replaced by an increased reliance on tourism. This suited them just fine. Unfamiliar faces were to be expected, and no-one paid them a second glance as they had wandered through the centre of town.

Sarah had hooked her right arm onto Chuck's left – for the cover, of course – as they had meandered along recently paved side-walks and back alleys, pretending to be a couple appreciating the old-style architecture and making idle conversation, while really they were scouting for a location to meet Skinnard and marking exit points, should they need to ditch the truck and escape on foot. They had selected a small café just off the main road as the location for the meeting. Several buildings with accessible roofs provided a perfect vantage point of the café, and the area would be busy enough in the morning with congestion to give them some cover, were it needed. Such a small town, of course, had other obvious benefits: law enforcement was little or none, and they had yet to see any signs of it in the hour that they'd been there. All in all, from a tactical standpoint, Sarah was satisfied.

There was just one last thing to do: call Chloe and let Skinnard know about the meeting.

"Are you sure I have to wear this?" Chuck whined from beside her, as they drew up on a rack of payphones outside a convenience store.

Sarah sighed. "Chuck, the make-up's necessary to cover your bruises," she muttered. "Bruises are memorable, remember?"

"I meant the baseball cap and sunglasses," he said. "Don't they just draw more suspicion?"

"Look where we were," Sarah said, gesturing around her. "Wearing a baseball cap here is hardly going to attract attention."

Chuck turned, looking at the other passers by in the street – many in baseballs caps. "Okay, point," he conceded.

She gave him a wry smile before picking up the phone and dialling the number, and Chuck turned his attention to his watch.

The phone had barely rung once before it was answered. "H-Hello?"

"Chloe?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, hi, Sarah," Chloe said. She sounded surprisingly nondescript – even for her."How are you?"

"Good," Sarah answered hurriedly. "Chloe, did you get through to Skinnard?"

There was a long pause.

"Yes, I did," Chloe answered finally. "He's agreed to fly out to Sacramento tonight. Though he's pretty pissed by the sounds of it."

She nodded to Chuck, who gave her a thumbs up in return.

"You need to tell him us at Benny's café in Baskerville tomorrow morning at 9am," she continued. "He'll need to head east along the 16 until -"

"Got it," Chloe interrupted. "I'll forward him the details."

"Okay, good. And, Chloe..." Sarah hesitated, aware that Chuck was watching her. "Thanks. I know this has been a little strange. I owe you one."

"You're welcome," Chloe answered stiffly.

"Thanks again," she said finally.

After hanging up, she glanced over at Chuck, who nodded, reaffirming that the call was too short to be traced – slightly redundant as she'd already informed Chloe of their location. Nevertheless, they weren't going to take any chances, and were going to spend the night in a motel that was five miles out of Baskersville.

"Everything all right?" Chuck asked, as they started the walk back to where they'd parked the truck.

"Yeah, I think so," she said, sub-consciously hooking her arm back under Chuck's, causing him to stiffen.

"Did anything about that phone call seem strange to you?" she asked, biting her tongue.

Chuck shrugged. "I wasn't on it. For that I'd have to ask you."

"True," she said, smiling at him. "It's just that Chloe seemed a bit...off."

"Well, didn't you say that she was a bit _special?_" Chuck said, looking at her guiltily.

"That's _not_ what I said," she said, smacking his side gently. "I said she had a bit of an eccentric personality. When I spoke to her now, she was very...to the point."

"Maybe she knew you couldn't talk for long," Chuck offered.

"Maybe," she said, not entirely convinced. "It's just whenever I've spoken to her before, even if it's only been for thirty seconds, there's normally at least one sarcastic comment or remark."

"Do you think something could be wrong?"

"I'm not sure," she said as they turned the corner, out of sight of the café. "It's probably just me being paranoid."

# # #

**18th October 2007 [One Day Before Meet]**

**Motel, outside of Baskersville, California**

**23:07 PST**

The rest of the evening was spent continuing to scout Baskersville and going over the logistics for tomorrow, and it was late before they finally drove back out of town to the motel to retire. After a heated discussion, with most of the resistance coming from Chuck, it had been agreed that they would split up, at least initially, for the meeting with Skinnard. Sarah would wait for him in the café, and Chuck would remain across the street, out of the sight, until she gave him the signal it was safe. She had deliberately not told Chloe about Chuck, and bind-siding an assistant director of the CIA with an alleged Ring agent probably wasn't the best way to go about the meeting. She would need to talk to him first.

Sarah had also methodically gone through the small armoury salvaged from the _Range Rover _that was now stored in the back of the truck. Extensive as it was, discretion was their best tactic and she would only be carrying Panzer's _Desert Eagle_ and a small boot knife with her tomorrow, and despite more reluctance from Chuck, he had also agreed he should be carrying.

There was, however, one thing that still needed to be finalised. Chuck.

After his headache last night, she hadn't pressed him about flashing all day, but they both knew that they needed to go over it, and make sure that he was in fact capable of doing so again. It wasn't until they'd eaten and were back in the motel room that Sarah brought it up.

"How are the headaches?" she asked.

Chuck turned from where he'd been standing at the window, gazing out. "Better," he said, nodding. "They were gone by the morning."

"That's good," she said, smiling at him from the side of the bed. "Are you ready to try again?"

"Sure," he said, returning her smile, though, she could see it didn't quite extend to his eyes.

"What language are we going to try tonight?" he asked, trying to hold his smile as he moved toward to the bed.

"We'll get to that," she said, moving over to make space for him. "Right now it's important that you relax again."

"Yeah," he said with a small chuckle as he crossed his legs. "No pressure about tomorrow or anything..." he mumbled.

Once again, Sarah found herself wondering how Chuck could carry so much self doubt. Despite all the amazing things she'd seen him do, it seemed to be an intransigent part of his character. A part of her felt guilty that she kept comparing him to Bryce, and how many differences and similarities she noticed between the two. Bryce had approached things with this calm confidence that sometimes bordered on arrogance, in complete contrast to Chuck. But as different as they were, they both possessed the same rugged sense of determination to do what was right. That resemblance was scary.

"Chuck," she said, reaching over to take his hand. "Let's not think about tomorrow, okay? Yesterday you managed to flash just fine, and I'm sure you can do it again. Let's just concentrate on the now."

She saw his eyes dart down towards her hand. "Right," he said, quickly looking back up. "Let's do this."

"Okay, so, um, do you want to close your eyes?" she asked, shrugging apologetically.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and Sarah watched he started to try and relax his breathing. Although, she could see that the tension never left his shoulders.

"Slow and deep breaths," she said.

Sarah knew that Chuck was feeling the pressure. Truthfully, she didn't know exactly what else to suggest to him. However much she could encourage him to relax, he was going to be on edge because he knew he was about to flash, and he knew what was at stake if he didn't. Her trick yesterday had caught him off guard, surprisingly so – she was astounded that Chuck hadn't even _realised_ he'd flashed!

Tomorrow he was going to need to flash on the Ring intelligence he had within the Intersect to show Skinnard, or at least prove to some extent of the Intersect's existence. Surely that would be enough to make Skinnard at least willing to _listen._ After all, he had practically placed blind faith in Bryce's innocence and loyalty when he had recalled her. But as confident as she was in Chuck's ability to flash, Sarah had already had started coming up with a contingency plan were he not able to flash. It involved taking Chuck, and running.

"Slow and deep -"

Then, abruptly, Chuck's eyes burst open, and before she could continue, his eyelids started to flutter.

"Chuck?" she asked hesitantly. "Did you just flash?"

He blinked a couple of times before his jaw dropped, and he was suddenly unable to take his eyes off her.

"Sarah?" he said, sounding more than a little confused. "I think – I think I just flashed on you."

_What?_

"What?" she exclaimed, suddenly more nervous than she'd been in days. "What do you mean you – you flashed on..._me_?"

Chuck swallowed. "I just – just had my eyes closed and was thinking that this wasn't going to work, so I opened them and I saw the..." He slowed in his ramble to gesture to the age old small crescent shaped scar on her neck, barely visible after all this time. "And I flashed," he finished.

Sarah felt her fingers ghost over the faded scar. "What did you see?" she asked quietly, already guessing what he going to say. The scar was from her escape. When she'd tripped.

Chuck pressed his hands to his face, as if he were straining to remember – or could not quite believe.

"An old street," he started to say. "In Paris – it was dark, and you were there. In a red coat. And there was someone else...A woman."

Sarah's heart was suddenly in her mouth, beating in time with Chuck's every word.

"She had long, dark hair and..." Chuck abruptly looked up at her. "Sarah...you shot her. You shot her, Sarah. It was your Red Test. I think I flashed on your Red Test."

Her Red Test.

Her Red Test.

Possibly the worst day of her life, and Chuck had flashed on her Red Test.

She didn't need to listen to Chuck's description of that night for a vivid picture was already burnt into her memory. Those events two years ago were so clear she could see them as if they had happened yesterday. Everything. Well, almost everything. The woman's face...She couldn't remember her face. But...

Then the images of her dreams came back to her. The face that had been pursuing her through her dreams of late. It was _her. _The face that she'd long since blacked out. The same woman. The same nameless woman who she had killed two years ago in Paris. Killed. Assassinated. Executed. Whatever ugly word was used to describe what Graham had ordered her to do. It didn't matter that she almost hadn't been able to go through with it, that she'd only fired when she thought she saw a gun. It was all the same.

Her first.

"Sarah?" Chuck asked tentatively. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? What, no...I'm – yeah, just...wow," she stuttered, the powerful shock of memory catching her words, and making Chuck's voice seem distant.

"There's more," he said suddenly.

"More?" she said, recoiling slightly. "You mean...about my Red Test?"

Chuck looked hesitant.

"Tell me."

"The woman," Chuck said quietly. "Graham told you that she was a traitor. Only she wasn't. She wasn't, and Graham...he knew."

Before Chuck had even finished speaking, she had pushed herself away, off the bed, until she was on her feet.

"No," she said defiantly, continuing to move away from the bed, refusing to believe what Chuck had just said. "No, she couldn't have been. That can't be true. They wouldn't do that. Why would they do that?"

Chuck just sat there, speechless.

"She was innocent," Sarah said, her eyes starting to water as the realisation hit. "She was innocent and I killed her."

Even though her words were barely a whisper, with the speed that Chuck used to practically leap off the bed, she might as well have shouted them.

"Chuck," she said, unable to look straight at him as she found herself back closer and closer to the wall. "Please..."

But he wasn't listening. He had already started to move towards her, stopping at a distance that was probably too close. When she looked up at him, his face wasn't contorted with anger. There was no lingering resentment for what _she_ had done in his expression. Instead his eyes were wide with sympathy.

"This isn't your fault, Sarah. They used you," he said, gently placing a hand on her arm and she immediately felt its warmth. "It's not your fault."

She started to shake her head uncontrollably; she didn't deserve his comfort. "No, Chuck. Don't" she said, as the shaking extended to her whole body. "You should have left me in the desert..."

"Sarah, stop," Chuck said commandingly, placing both hands on her shoulders, holding her steady and effectively forcing her to look at him. When she did, she could see a fiery passion in his eyes, one that she'd never seen before in him. "Don't you _ever _say that!Listen to me, you are a _good _person, okay? They used you, and they manipulated you. There's no way you could've known! Your were just following orders. You're not responsible for what happened."

"Chuck," she whispered, conscious that tears were visibly starting to flow, only she no longer cared. "It doesn't matter. The world isn't black and white. I'm still the one that pulled the trigger. I'm still the one that killed her, and I don't even know her name."

Chuck frowned. "Of course it _matters_," he said, his voice turning suddenly hoarse. "It matters that you care. You may have been the one that pulled the trigger, but Graham or whoever the hell gave the order is the one that really killed her. You are a good person, Sarah, and don't you ever doubt that. Not for one second, okay."

When Chuck finished speaking, he appeared to get control of himself, realising just how close they actually were, turning slightly red. But he didn't step back, his hands still remaining on her shoulders.

It took a few seconds to process what Chuck had actually said. That it wasn't her fault. That she was a good person. The confidence and faith he had in her shocked her to the core, and she didn't know how to respond. For now it seemed enough to distract from the aching numbness growing from within her.

Then, before she knew what she was doing, she had started to move closer to him. She knew she shouldn't be doing this, but she couldn't stop, his words constantly echoing around her head, and she was only able to gaze up into and beyond the brown orbs across from her. Reflexively, his hands started to slip down from her shoulders to her sides, gently grazing her.

"Sarah..." Chuck said, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper.

She didn't respond, continuing only to draw herself closer to him until she could feel his tight breath against her face. She was too close now; there was no backing away, and she didn't want to. In fact, she'd never wanted anything more in her whole life. She titled her head up slightly, allowing her eyes to fall shut, and she could almost feel the trace of his lips gliding over hers when... Nothing.

She opened her eyes, just in time to see that Chuck had moved his head back before suddenly stiffening and pulling her in for a hug, wrapping both his arms tightly around her. She quickly buried her face into his chest, not allowing him to see the signs of the humiliation she now felt that were written all over her face and the tears that were still freely flowing.

She began to scrunch up fistfuls of his shirt. _What the hell was wrong with her? _

"I'm sorry," Chuck whispered against her ear. "I'm sorry."

"It's my fault," she said quietly into his chest. "I shouldn't have-"

"No it isn't," Chuck interrupted, cutting her off. "None of this is your fault, Sarah." She felt him raise a hand up along her back, idly beginning to stroke her hair. "Believe me, I-I want to. But, I just – You've just been through hell, and it wouldn't be right for me to...I'm sorry."

Surprisingly, Sarah felt the corners of her mouth start to rise – though only by the tiniest amount. His reasoning for rejecting her felt strangely consoling and noble and just, well, _Chuck. _She felt stupid for thinking that Chuck would go along with it. But he had said that he _wanted_ to.

She didn't want to let this moment end; with Chuck's arms wrapped around her, she felt safe, protected. Letting go meant dealing with the foolishness of her actions. Letting go meant dealing with the reality that she'd killed an unarmed, innocent woman. Letting go meant going back to a world where Chuck was a wanted man.

She wasn't ready.

Not yet.

# # #

**19th October 2007**

**Glendale, California**

**03:21 PST**

On this particular mission, John Casey knew the perks were very few and far between. It was like Afghanistan in that sense, where he had been stationed for the last six months, holed up for day on the side of some godforsaken mountain that no-one state side would have ever heard of or painstakingly trekking through the desert, where one wrong step could blow a man into a million tiny pieces.

But at least there he'd had his own unit for company, and he didn't have to deal with the damned incompetence of the CIA. Cleaning up their screw-ups was not something he particularly enjoyed. But regardless, orders were orders, and a trip to the supposed City of Angels brought him at least one benefit: late night pancakes.

He was just settling down to a stack when his phone rang. He was eating alone, and no-one else was around, so he let out a sigh when he saw the number. Something he rarely did; the number that was calling meant orders.

Pancakes would have to wait.

"Yes, General," he answered.

"Major," came the stiff response that could only belong to Diane Beckman. "I trust I'm not intruding."

"Not at all."

"How is the investigation progressing?" she asked.

The investigation had hardly been progressing at all. Since his man at the FBI had confirmed that it had been Larkin's body in the car and not Bartowski as originally suspected, any leads had dried up. Bartowski was still unaccounted for – the CIA unable to provide any records on him – and another CIA skirt, Sarah Walker, had also disappeared.

"There are a number of leads, General," Casey answered.

"Right," she said, sounding unconvinced. "Although I wasn't calling simply for an update, Major. There's been a development"

"Oh?" Casey asked, intrigued.

"It's filtered through the chain of command," Beckman said. "That the CIA task force in L.A. has a possible location on Bartowski."

"General, how?" Casey said, struggling to contain the irritation in his voice. "I thought I was being kept appraised by the CIA on the ground."

"You know how Agent Shaw operates, Major," Beckman said, sounding disapproving. "He likes to play things pretty close to the chest."

Casey bit back a grunt. He knew _all_ too well how Shaw liked to operate.

"How did the CIA get this information, General?"

"The only thing I'm being told is that Shaw found a lead," Beckman said, clucking her teeth disapprovingly, clearly annoyed that the CIA were keeping her in the dark.

"Where is this location for Bartowski?" he asked.

"Baskerville, near Sacramento. Bartowski's supposedly going to be there tomorrow morning. Shaw's taking his task force up there now."

Casey glanced at his watch. If he left now, he should be able to make it there by the morning. "How would you like me to proceed, General?" he said.

"Go to Baskersville and assist the Shaw in his apprehension of Bartowski," she said. "Oh, and Major? When you get there, make sure you find out just what the hell is going on."

# # #

**A/N: **_Chapter 14 will be sometime soon. Kill Jill V will be Tuesday/Wednesday._


	14. All's Hell in Small Towns

**A/N:** _My thanks go out to __**Dana**__ for beta'ing this chapter and for tolerating my recent obsession with semi-colons and dashes. Seriously, they are even starting to annoy me. She's awesome. If you haven't checked out her latest story, _Little Girls, Paper Wreaths, & Choc Chip Cookies_, then you totally should. It's really good!_

_My additional thanks go out to __**Crumby**__,__**NMH**__, and __**LinShoe85**__, were reassuring me that this story hadn't descended into too much chaos._

**Chapter 14**

**All's Hell in Small Towns**

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Baskersville, California**

**09:03 PST**

She'd screwed up.

She'd screwed up big time.

Even amidst all the confusion that Sarah now felt, she knew that for sure. Kissing Chuck – trying to kiss him – definitely hadn't been the wisest thing to do. She'd been stupid, impulsive, reckless, desperate, pathetic, and a whole host of other adjectives that she _really_ didn't care to think about. To say the least.

She'd replayed that moment over and over again in her head, repeatedly, drawing out and analysing every damned second, until that it was all she could see every time she closed her eyes. Him. Chuck. Rejecting her, turning her down – not to imply that she blamed him, of course. She felt like crap for putting him in that position. Knowing him – and she really didn't – he probably thought it was his fault, that _he _was somehow taking advantage of her _vulnerability._ And the truth was, she had felt vulnerable. Finding out that Graham had knowingly ordered her to kill an innocent for her Red Test had started her questioning what else she'd done that she thought was right. Her actions last night, though, as stupid as they probably were, had felt right. Natural, if not for a better word, and that just confused her even more.

She still didn't know what the hell she'd been thinking. Sure, she acted on impulse all the time – somewhat of a necessity in her line of work – but never like this. Never. She didn't do emotions. Emotions made things real, and when things were real, she got hurt.

She'd screwed up.

Releasing her clenched jaw, she pushed all thoughts of Chuck and _that_ moment to the back of her mind, before glancing up at the clock in the corner and looking around the café. It was the same as when she had checked thirty seconds ago – and also the time before that. She didn't really know why she even bothered to look; the chime on the door would let her know the instant that anyone entered. Her instincts, thankfully, were still as sharp as ever. Ten years in the CIA has seen to that.

She took another cautious sip of whatever warm beverage she was drinking, swallowing it uneasily. It was now six after nine; Skinnard still wasn't here, and that was unnerving. His absence could mean entirely anything, and for at least the last thirty minutes, her mind had been processing one disastrous scenario after another.

While she had no real ground to suspect that anything had gone astray, something had _felt_ off since yesterday and – then she saw it.

# # #

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Baskersville, California**

**09:05 PST**

Across the street, Chuck was lying flat against a rooftop, behind the cover of a small ledge. He had a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes, through which he was watching the café opposite where Sarah was waiting.

Having him wait on the roof had been her idea; this was as hidden as he could get in this small town. From here he could see down both ends of the street, as well as inside the café. They'd parked the truck in an alley, several hundred feet behind the café, out of sight, should they need to make a quick escape. Failing that, the woods weren't far, as Sarah had noted. He wasn't entirely comfortable, though, hidden away up here while Sarah was so exposed – then again, as she had tactically pointed out, he was the one who was probably in more danger. That hadn't really made him feel better.

Despite his rather awkward position – and he'd been lying there for nearly an hour – the most difficult thing he was discovering about lying there was keeping focused as a lookout and not getting distracted watching Sarah. And, damn, not getting distracted by Sarah was proving to be the most difficult task of all. She was sitting alone at a table by the wall, hands laid out in front of her; just a regular girl in her twenties, out for a morning coffee. From the calm expression on her face, she looked almost peaceful, beautifully so. But, Chuck knew, she was ready. Waiting.

Whenever his eyes fell on her, it was hard not to stop his mind from flashing back to last night, to when she had tried to kiss him and he had stopped her with that terribly awkward hug. Aside from discussing the mission, they hadn't really spoken much after that – and what could either of them have said?

Part of him was still reprimanding himself for stopping it, and for letting Sarah think that he had rejected her. He hadn't; he could only _fantasise _about what it would've actually been like. But it just wouldn't have been right. She had only just found out about her Red Test, about what they'd _done_ to her. He was still angry for not thinking before he'd opened his mouth. He really hated the Intersect for that; Sarah would have been better off not knowing, particularly after everything that had happened. But who the hell was he to judge? He was tired of playing God – Bryce had never been able to teach him to live with that. He had never wanted to be put in this sort of situation, with so much at stake…

This, Chuck thought, was kind of ironic given his current position.

Chuck's eyes flickered towards the bell clock down the street, and seeing the result, he shifted uncomfortably. It was seven minutes past the hour. He didn't like the idea of staying here, letting Sarah wait in that café alone for more than was necessary. And from what she had told him, Skinnard wasn't the type to be late.

It was only then, in the new angle that he'd moved to, that Chuck realised something was wrong, but he couldn't quite place it. He adjusted the focus on the binoculars. Sarah looked as calm as ever, and nothing had changed in the café; the streets were calm and -

That was it.

The streets were calm.

Less than a quarter of an hour prior the streets had been bustling with activity – as they should have been at this hour. People had been going to work, parents were taking their kids to school, all of them just people going about their lives. It should have still been chaotic, but now there was nothing! There was barely anyone on the sidewalk, and the actual traffic had dropped completely.

Something was wrong.

_Shit._

He had to warn Sarah.

Then, just as Chuck started to move, he saw it – and everything seemed to happen at once. A sudden, blinding flash of light through the café window caused him to drop the binoculars, and he bit back a cry as he brought up a hand to cover his eyes.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Trying desperately to blink the white out of his eyes, he pushed himself back from the ledge and stood up. It was too hard to make out what exactly was was going on below, but he could tell that there were suddenly people in the street once more, running, seemingly from all the directions. The sounds of shouting and screaming filled his ears, and sirens; lots and lots of sirens.

Chuck didn't hesitate as he turned and ran, straight towards the fire escape on the other side of the building. Mentally cursing himself and willing his eyes to focus, he all but jumped onto the stairwell and started sprinting down it.

Chuck pulled his _Walther _out of the back of his jeans.

This wasn't the plan.

The good guys were here.

# # #

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Baskersville, California**

**09:07 PST**

It was the flash of metal that tipped Sarah off.

The man on the table next to her was careless; the reflection in her napkin holder of the handgrip under his jacket as he was leaning over for the creamer was all needed to know something was wrong. He must have noticed something too, for he had already started to spin around, scrambling to draw his weapon, just as she jumped up, overturning her entire table and crashing it into him. Blinding sunlight flashed out the window as it reflected off the metallic table. Coffee and condiments went everywhere and the man next to her let out a cry and went down in a heap.

She was vaguely aware of people around her shouting, but she didn't pause to check; two other men in the café had already started to rise, reaching for their weapons. Grabbing a fresh napkin holder off the nearest table, she hurled it across the room, straight into her attacker's head, before turning around, and making a mad dash towards the back of the café. The remaining man standing yelled after her. Luckily, the panic of the_ actual_ civilians in the café meant he didn't have a clean shot – not that she was sure he would've taken it anyway.

A second later and she was running through the kitchen, having already passed two screaming waitresses. Seeing the _Desert Eagle _that was now in her hand, the single chef merely stepped out of her way. The sound of sirens – thankfully from behind her – suddenly started to plague her ears as she exploded out the backdoor and into the alley.

A quick glance told her it was empty – not for long, no doubt – but she didn't stop, instead ramming herself back into the door so that it slammed shut. She quickly kicked up a piece of wood idly lying next to the dumpster and wedged it under the door. The loud thud that hit the door a second later, followed by a shock of pain told her she hadn't done it a moment too soon.

"Dammit," she cursed out loud, taking the safety off her _Desert Eagle._

Forgetting any lingering pain from her injuries, she took off at a sprint down the alley; the _Ford _was parked on the street at the other end. Given the repeated crashing against the door, her improvised door stop probably wouldn't last for long – and that was the least of concerns right now; whoever was after her would be in the alley in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.

_Whoever._

The sirens meant police or the FBI; it wasn't the Ring. But it was as good as; if they were caught, one would most likely lead to the other.

_What the fuck happened? Had Skinnard sold them out?_

_And where the hell was Chuck?_

She didn't have time to dwell on it; the sound of running from an adjoining alley, one perpendicular to her own, caused her to instinctively duck. Two men in SWAT gear were heading straight for her.

"Federal agents!" One of them screamed from thirty feet away. "Freeze!"

Sarah rolled to take cover behind the wall where the alleys intersected; a burst of automatic weapons fire followed. Her eyes widened with shock. They had fired first! Who the hell were these guys? Federal agents didn't fire first unless –

Another burst of fire cut off that thought.

Instinctively, she reached round the corner and fired back, remembering at the last minute to make _sure_ the two shots went wide. There was the distinctive sound of boots skidding to a halt, and Sarah used the moment to launch herself back up and into the centre of the alley. More cries of "Federal Agent!" followed her as she continued.

This was bad.

The high building walls on either side dropped away to a metal fence on her right that ran parallel to the alley – and was that someone running across the cracked concrete towards it? The person, not dressed in tactical gear, jumped the fence in an impressive two step move, and landed in a roll not ten feet in front. She very nearly fired, stopping at the last second when she recognised the person.

"Chuck!" she cried, heading over to him. Panic started to set in when he didn't get up immediately. "Chuck! Are you all right?"

"Sarah!" he groaned awkwardly, looking up at her with wide eyes, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he started to shakily stand up. "The cops! Skinnard sold us out!"

"Not now, Chuck!" she said, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him up. He was still heavily panting. "We gotta go."

He didn't argue as they carried on towards the end of the alley, and they reached it with only a second to spare; the two SWATs rounded the corner onto her alley just as they made it onto the street. The truck was, thankfully, where they'd left it. No police were in sight and the street was relatively clear of civilians.

She tossed the keys to Chuck, who was already by the driver's door, and adopted a defensive position against the truck, levelling her weapon back at the alley. "Get the truck started; I'll cover you!"

"We can't kill them, Sarah!" he yelled back, fiddling to open the door. "They're cops. We can't shoot the good guys."

"Just shut up and open the door—" Only she froze; the words seemed to fall out of her mouth as she saw the laser-sight trailing along the ground until… "Chuck, get down!"

Sarah didn't think; she threw herself forward, tackling Chuck down behind the truck. The shot came a second later, landing harmlessly into the pavement beside her.

"S-Sarah?" Chuck said from under her, and she was suddenly aware of her how she was lying almost completely atop of him, her arms wrapped around his head. The rest of her was pressing against his - She quickly pushed herself back into a crouch, so she was leaning against the truck. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Keep down, Chuck!"

Sarah's grip tightened around the _Desert Eagle_. Chuck's own gun had skidded across the pavement when she had tackled him; he couldn't go for it without putting himself in the sniper's line of sight. She knew she had only seconds to take out the sniper – or at least distract him – before the two SWATs chasing her emerged from the alley.

She took a deep breath, and looked over at Chuck who had pressed himself into a squatting position behind the truck. "When I shoot, get in the truck!"

He gave her a nod to show he'd understood, and without waiting any longer, she spun around and unloaded half her magazine at the roof of the building opposite. There was no way she'd actually hit the sniper – but he didn't know that.

"Sarah!" She turned to see that Chuck had half climbed into the truck, but that he was taking cover behind the steering wheel. "The alley!"

The two SWATs had finally emerged it seemed, and they had their guns trained on the truck.

Praying that the sniper had at least ducked for cover, she rolled out to get clear of the truck's open door, before firing two clean shots at the SWATs. They both dropped their weapons and collapsed on the sidewalk, rolling in pain. Then, out of nowhere, Chuck had his arms back around her and was pulling her into the truck. She didn't protest, scrambling in after him.

"You shot them!" he said accusingly, as she pulled the door closed.

Sarah shook her head. "They'll live."

Chuck made a shrugging noise. "Fair point. Apparently you're driving," he said, managing to sound surprisingly calm.

Sarah looked down. He was right; she was in the driver's seat. Without wasting time to think, she keyed up the ignition and kicked down on the accelerator.

"Nooo!"

A sudden screaming sound through the open window caused her turn her head around, just as she was pulling the truck out onto the road. A man dressed all in black was running straight towards the truck, coming up on the driver's side. Sarah blinked back surprise; the man looked familiar – and he looked pissed. No, pissed was an understatement; he was furious. And from the rate the truck was accelerating, he was going to reach it before they escaped.

Shit.

"Is he going to—?" Chuck started to say from next to her, but was cut off as the man all but leapt onto the outside of the driver's door. Abruptly, her vision was filled with raven-black hair and a snarling face that she now recognised, and a hand was grabbing at her shoulder. The other one had placed itself firmly on the wheel, trying to drag it to the left – and crash the truck.

Sarah dragged the wheel to the right in an effort to counter his weight, and shoved her elbow into him, trying to knock him off the door, but to no avail. The next thing she knew, Chuck had scrambled over and had his hands on the wheel, taking the weight of it from her.

"Sarah, now!"

Realising what Chuck meant, she released her right hand from the wheel and curled it into a fist, then slammed it straight into the man's mouth. He let out a searing cry and fell back onto the road. Sarah watched as he rolled over several times before stopping.

She heard Chuck breathe heavily from beside her as they pulled away. "Who the hell was that? He looked like he knew you."

Sarah concentrated on driving for a couple of seconds before swallowing; she knew exactly who he was.

"He does. I mean, he did, a lifetime ago." She dared a look over at him; her mind was still shocked at what had just happened. From Chuck's expression, so was he. "He's the man leading the CIA taskforce to bring you in. His name's Special Agent Daniel Shaw."

# # #

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Two miles outside Baskersville, California**

**06:57 PST [Two Hours Earlier]**

It was coming up on seven A.M. when John Casey pulled up at where the CIA taskforce was assembling, just outside of Baskerville. He'd driven throughout the night to get here, and the night was starting to catch up to him. Shaw had chosen a gas station parking lot to brief his team which, Casey noted, had already started.

_So much for inter-agency co-operation,_ he thought to himself, stepping out the vehicle.

Shaw's team consisted of about twenty men, half of them were dressed in tactical gear – men on loan from the FBI – and the others were in civilian clothes. At the centre of everything was Shaw, dressed all in black. His face turned from serious to smug when he saw Casey approaching.

"Ah, Colonel," he said, moving forward so that the circle cleared for him. "General Beckman said you'd be joining us."

Casey stared at him.

"Oh, sorry, _Major_," Shaw said, with only an ounce of mocking in his voice. "I'd forgotten about the demotion."

Hadn't he just.

Casey eyed Shaw's men, several of whom looked slightly uneasy. "Well," he said slowly, asserting himself into the circle, "you would know, _Special_ Agent Shaw."

He heard a couple of men in the circle laugh. Shaw frowned at them before turning on Casey.

"The past's in the past, Major; nothing to get worked up about. Now I suggest that we get back to the briefing."

"Don't mind me," Casey said seriously, folding his arms.

Shaw's eyes tightened for a moment, before he shrugged and looked back to his men. "As I was saying before we were interrupted, the primary target here is Bartowski – you've all got his photo from when he was at the Agency. We need him alive. Is that clear? He is the primary target."

Casey watched as the men all nodded in acknowledgement.

Shaw took a deep breath before continuing. "We do not have a confirmation on Bartowski's location, but he is believed to be travelling with the now rogue CIA agent, Sarah Walker, and she is known to be in Bakersville."

Casey felt himself frowning at the way Shaw had said Walker's name – his mouth had contorted slightly as he had said it. "Walker's rogue now?" he asked. "Last I heard she was simply missing."

"Things have developed," Shaw said simply, barely keeping the irritation out of his voice.

In other words, Casey thought, _shut the hell up_. There was no point arguing with Shaw; he wasn't going to give anything away he didn't feel was absolutely necessary – like the rest of CIA.

"The Agency now considers Walker to be expendable. If given the opportunity…" Shaw paused dramatically, and gave his lips a quick lick. "If need be, take her out. Bartowski is the primary target. The Agency only needs only him alive."

Again, Shaw's men all acknowledged this order.

Casey swallowed uneasily; what things in the last few hours could have possibly developed that lead to an active CIA agent suddenly becoming expendable? And why the hell was Bartowski so important?

He blinked when realised Shaw was staring at him. "Is there a problem, Major?"

He looked back at Shaw and gave his best grunt. "No. No, there isn't."

_Only everything about this._

"Good," Shaw said promptly. "Now let's go over the logistics…"

Shaw's voice trailed off as Casey clenched his jaw. He needed to call Beckman and find out just what had transpired – though she would probably be pissed; he had been sent to here to get _her_ answers, not the other way around. Nevertheless, Shaw had alluded to the higher-ups being involved, and if he was right, Beckman would know about it.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, and went to back to listening to Shaw.

And his plan.

# # #


	15. Much Ado about Nothing

**A/N:** _Thanks to __**DanaPAH**__ for beta'ing this chapter for me, battling through sickness to get it done – __**Dana**__, you're awesome. Thanks also to __**Crumbles**__ and __**Nysa**__ for all their support._

_Also, __**Frea**__, you're scary._

Chapter 15

Much Ado about Nothing

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Baskersville, California**

**09:15 PST**

"_His name's Special Agent Daniel Shaw."_

"Shaw?" Chuck repeated, momentarily losing concentration as Sarah nearly crashed into – swerved around a motorbike. "I know that name."

Sarah shot a quick glance at him before turning back to the road. Her tongue was held tightly between her teeth.

"He's a top level Ring expert."

"Dammit," Sarah cursed as two patrol cars appeared out of nowhere dead ahead, sirens screeching angrily. Chuck braced himself as she spun the wheel right, taking them onto a side street and off the main road that led back to the highway, the only way out of Baskersville. "A Ring expert? How'd you know that? The Intersect?"

Chuck swallowed, shaking his head. "Cooper told me."

But before Sarah could reply, the two patrol cars appeared on the street behind them. They were gaining. "Shit," she muttered, glancing up in the rear view mirror. "It's too early in the morning for car chases. Chuck, we gotta lose these guys."

Chuck's eye fell on the bag containing the weapons that they'd stolen from the _Range Rover_, which they'd stashed behind the seats. He unbuckled his seatbelt and started to scramble between the seats, reaching into the back of the cabin, desperately trying not to press his, um, hind regions into Sarah's face. He unzipped the bag and saw what he was looking for.

"Chuck?" Sarah asked in between swerving through cars, sounding more than a bit concerned. "What are you doing? You can't shoot the cops!"

He gave a brief snort. "Says the person who crippled the SWATs with the _Desert Eagle_?"

"I didn't cripple them! They'll walk again…probably."

"Relax, I'm not gonna shoot the cops." Chuck pulled himself back into the passenger seat and showed her what he'd retrieved.

She grinned at him. "Next corner, okay?"

Chuck nodded before lowering his window, holding his arm in position. When the truck skidded around the next corner, Sarah slowed the truck down and he quickly pulled the pins out of the two smoke grenades he was holding, tossing them out of the open window. Barely a second passed before thick smoke started to fill the streets, sweeping across it and encompassing the buildings on either side. A wave of guilt started to pass through him as he heard people on the sidewalks start to scream, but he was jolted back to into reality – and his seat, very hard – as Sarah accelerated the truck. He could also hear that the sirens were more distant than they had been, and looking up in the mirror, the smoke was now flashing blue and red; the cops hadn't made it through.

"Nice work," Sarah said from next to him.

"There'll be more," he said, though not entirely managing to suppress the smile at her praise. "We need to get out of this town fast."

"I know," she agreed, and Chuck could've sworn he saw something sparkle in eyes, just for a moment.

"Sarah, what are you—?"

Only he was cut off as Sarah suddenly spun the wheel left, aiming the vehicle at a gap in between the buildings, taking them straight into the forest.

"There's no road here!" Chuck exclaimed, bracing himself against the seat as the truck started to bounce up and down on their new, improvised route. "There's not even a trail!"

Sarah looked at him again, grinning devilishly.

"Shortcut."

"Shortcut to where?"

"The highway. At least I –" She paused to wrestle with the steering wheel as the truck hit a rock – or what Chuck _hoped _was rock. "At least I think," she finished.

Chuck nodded to himself, unable to bring himself to object any further – partly because his eyes were too glued to the path ahead to focus, and the distraction of the bushes and branches scraping against the truck were proving too loud to think over.

"Is anyone following us?" Sarah asked.

Chuck shifted uncomfortably in his seat to get a clearer view of the dense forest they had ploughed through. "I think I saw a raccoon back there, but otherwise we're good. The smoke must have worked."

He watched as Sarah tried and failed to suppress a nervous smile, all the while not taking her eyes off the route in front.

"Hang on," she said, starting to accelerate the car up a ridge. "This could get a little bumpy."

"More bumpy?" he said nervously, very conscious of the ridiculous angles the truck was _already_ swaying at. Only Sarah didn't respond, and Chuck pushed himself back into the corner of the seat, holding on tightly.

The top of the ridge was suddenly closer and closer and Sarah wasn't slowing down – she wasn't slowing down! She was speeding up! She was speeding up the ridge! The truck was going to –

"Sarah! You're going to –"

"Hang on, Chuck!"

Chuck's heart was suddenly in his mouth as the truck literally took off, slowly arcing through the air – and holy crap he couldn't see the ground! The spin of the wheels made a choking sound as they tried to find something to grip on to, but they found only air… Then they were falling. Faster and faster, coming around through the other side of the arc.

He barely had time to swear as the truck crashed back down to earth, sending a sudden jolt of pain up through his spine. He blinked several times in rapid succession before realising where they were, and

Sarah exhaled loudly from beside him. "Huh. That really did lead to the highway."

Too much adrenaline was running through his veins for him to try and process whether Sarah was joking or not. At least they were back on the highway and in one piece. And his heart was still beating.

Chuck wiped an errant curl from his forehead, where sweat was causing it to stick. "Damn, woman, you can drive."

"_Woman?"_ Sarah said with a scowl. "Really, Chuck?"

_Ah, crap._

And then his heart was once again back in his mouth. "No, no, no! I didn't mean it _that_ way. I just meant that _that_ was impressive driving and not to imply that there was anything wrong with you being a woman. I'd really never mean that sort of thing, you know, especially to women! I love women! Not to imply that I – besides, I think that's a movie quote anyway. One of the _Matrix _films, I think and I think I'll just stop talking now because I have to breathe."

Chuck sank back into his seat and felt himself turn red as he gasped for air. A couple of seconds later, Sarah chuckled. "Relax, I was kidding."

He choked out a laugh that was way too high-pitched to come out as normal.

"And it was the third one."

"What?" he asked.

"The movie quote," Sarah said. "It was from the third _Matrix_ film. Bryce insisted on making me watch it."

"Really?" Chuck asked, sitting up in his seat, shaking his head in silent disapproval. "Bryce did that to you?"

"Yeah," she said laughing. "I hadn't seen either of the other ones, but he really didn't need to make me suffer through the terribleness that was that last film."

"Huh. Can't fault you there."

Sarah looked over at him and smiled, appearing way more relaxed than she had been at any time of the past few hours – well, they had _escaped_ after all. That was almost enough to distract her from the non-kiss the night before. And her Red Test.

"So, umm, this movie with Bryce," he asked before he could stop himself. "Was it like a date?"

He immediately regretted the question as soon as it had left his mouth, for Sarah's smile dropped faster than the truck had minutes ago and she turned back to the road, her grip tightening on the wheel.

"Bryce and I were partners, Chuck. That's all."

# # #

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Off Highway 49, California**

**10:34 PST**

They'd been driving for almost an hour now and had yet to run into any highway patrols – or worse, Shaw and the FBI. They had left the highway behind as soon as the first opportunity had presented itself, which had been a small country road heading north. Sarah had turned onto it without talking to Chuck about it. He hadn't objected.

Silence had plagued the small truck cabin since Chuck had asked about Bryce and they hadn't discussed what their next move was – at all. They were meandering mindlessly north, and it looked like it was going to stay that way. She really should have put an end to the silence; Chuck was clearly waiting for her to. She wasn't angry with him, not really. If anything, she was angry with herself. She wasn't sure why she'd lied to Chuck about Bryce. He surely knew the truth anyway; that their relationship was more than professional. What was bothering her – and this was incredibly stupid – was that last night, Chuck may have stopped her because of some crazy, old school loyalty to Bryce – despite everything that Bryce had done to him!

But that was stupid.

And she wasn't going to think about that.

Instead, she'd let her mind reel over what had happened in Baskerville: how federal agents had shot at them, how Shaw had chased after them literally seething with anger, how someone had betrayed them…She wasn't holding any delusions; it had to have been either Chloe and Skinnard, and right now, she was leaning towards the latter. Skinnard had been the one that had recalled her from Italy. He had been the one who had set her on the path that eventually led her here. Chuck had told her the Agency was compromised; could Skinnard really have been the one to betray them? Had she really been so stupid?

There was, she knew, one way to be sure…

"Sarah, um, perhaps you should loosen your grip on the wheel a little?"

"Huh, what?" she asked, looking across at Chuck who'd finally broken the silence.

He gestured to her right hand. "The death grip you've got on the wheel there can't really be good for the bruising."

"Bruising?" she repeated, frowning before looking down and seeing that her right knuckles had already turn a blue-brown colour, from when she'd hit Shaw. She slackened her grip, suddenly realising how sore her hand actually was.

"That was one hell of a punch," he said, seeing her expression, before pulling a bottle of water and a piece of cloth out of the glove box. "Here."

She didn't object as he gently pried her hand off the wheel, taking it in his own. He set some of the water on the cloth and started to dab it against her hand. She shuddered at the feel of the cool water.

"Sorry," Chuck said quickly.

"It's okay."

Then, she felt him drop the cloth, and tentatively run his fingers around her sore knuckles, massaging them, carefully avoiding the bruised areas. A sudden instinct crept up on her to close her eyes, and simply relax in his touch…before she remembered she was supposed to be driving.

"Chuck…" she breathed, desperately trying to concentrate. "I have to, um…"

"Sorry," he said again, only this time he released her hand – somewhat reluctantly – and she slowly placed it back on the wheel.

"I need to make a call," she blurted.

"A call?" he repeated, suddenly turning serious. "To who?"

She looked at him, raising a nervous eyebrow.

"Oh," he said simply, taking her meaning. "Are you sure that's wise?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, but we don't really have another choice. Besides, we can use one of the disposable cells. Those can't be traced, right?"

"No, they can't. As long you keep it short."

"Got it."

Sarah pulled the truck over to the side of the road. Both sides were covered by dense woodland, and there wasn't another car in sight. Chuck passed her over the cell and she dialled the number.

It was answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Chloe," Sarah said nonchalantly. "How's everything going?"

"S-Sarah?" Chloe managed to stammer. "You're calling!"

"Yes, I'm calling. Skinnard never made it to the meet this morning."

"Sarah—"

"I'm thinking he sold us out," she said casually. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and she could hear Chloe sniffing slightly.

"Actually, yes," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. "Only it wasn't Skinnard, it was me."

_What? _

It was Chloe?

Sarah heard her own voice suddenly turn cold. "It was you?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah," she said, opening crying into the phone. "I'm so sorry. They came to the house. Men, they came to the house, and they threatened Preston…I didn't have a choice."

"They threatened your kid?" Sarah asked, sitting up in her seat, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Chuck do the same. She'd seen a picture of Chloe's son once. It had been an accident. She hadn't meant to see the picture, but she had. He'd been cute, and had peanut butter stained all down his front. She wasn't sure why she remembered that.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. I just couldn't let –"

"Okay, stop apologising," Sarah interrupted, biting her lip in anxiety. "Have they come back? Did they hurt you?"

Chloe sniffed. "No, they haven't come back since. I've called my friend Jack. He's gonna help us go off grid for a while…"

"Okay, that's good," she said relaxing in her seat slightly – at least Chloe was all right, for now, and no-one else was dead. Chuck was still watching her intently. "Did these guys come to you before or after you contacted Skinnard?"

"After."

"Have you heard from Skinnard at all? Do you know where he is?"

Chloe paused, and Sarah clenched her jaw in anticipation, fearing the worst. Without Skinnard, she and Chuck would _really_ be screwed. She hoped nothing had happened to him.

"I don't," Chloe said finally. "I tried to reach his office…after, but his assistant didn't know where he was. I managed to find a flight booked in his name to California, but it looks like he never made it to the airport…"

Sarah cast a glance over at Chuck, and she saw him swallow nervously before tapping his watch. They were running low on time. She had to hurry this up.

"So no-one knows where he is?"

"I don't – I don't know," Chloe stammered. "Look, Sarah, I'm so sorry. I saw the reports…If something had happened to you—"

"Save it, Chloe. You didn't have a choice. Is there anything else you can tell me? Did these guys work for the CIA? The Ring? "

"I – I'm not sure," she said nervously. "But listen, I put out a call to a mutual friend of ours—"

Chuck had started fidgeting awkwardly next to her, distracting her from what Chloe was saying. "Sarah, time!" he muttered. "C'mon."

She pressed the phone closer to her ear trying to listen, waving Chuck off. "—I didn't have time to explain everything. But they'll be in California within the next twenty-four hours and—"

But before Chloe could finish the sentence, Chuck had leaned over and grabbed the phone from her hand, killing the call. She cast glare at him. "What the hell?"

He just shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sarah. If the line was open any longer there's a chance they could trace it and—"

"You're right," she said, cutting him off, looking away. "I'm sorry. I was being careless."

"Don't worry about it," he said, shrugging it off. "Besides, it's rude to snatch anyway."

She looked back up at him, smiling slightly. "I would've given it to you, you know, if you'd asked."

Chuck shuffled in his seat, turning red, and she suddenly found herself blushing too.

_Shit_.

She hadn't meant _that._ Could Chuck really think that -?

Thankfully, he quickly cleared his throat. "Is the kid all right? Your friend's?"

"Yeah, he's fine," She answered in a quiet voice, thinking back to the conversation with Chloe, chastising herself for letting her mind drift to such stupid possibilities. "They're going to go off grid for a while."

Chuck ran a hand through back his hair, slowly shaking his head up and down. "That's good. Is Skinnard…?"

"Chloe doesn't know," she said carefully, answering his unspoken question. "I think we may have to assume the worst."

Sarah watched his reaction carefully as he pressed his head back against the seat, letting his eyes fall shut. She could see the bags again now; they were clear and visible, making him look all too old for his years. He didn't need to say anything; the guilt was written all over his face. Sarah had called Skinnard to help him, and now he was gone…

"Chuck…" She reached over to him, nervously taking his hand, just as he had before. She wasn't quite sure what to do with it, so she just pulled it closer to her, cradling it in both of her own. Chuck's eyes were still shut. He _couldn't_ freak out right now. He couldn't. She needed him. If he did freak out, then she'd probably lose it, too.

"Chuck, please. There's no way either of us could have seen this coming. Let's not do this now, okay. I can't do this now. I don't want to do this now."

Then, without thinking, she lifted his hand and pressed it against her chin, letting it rest there a moment, simply enjoying the feel of it, before softly kissing it. Just as quickly, though, having realised what she'd done, she let it back go.

"I'm sorry…" she said.

When she looked over back at him, his eyes were open, wide with puzzlement.

"We should probably keep moving," he said.

# # #

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Off Highway 49, California**

**16:17 PST**

Chuck was really finding it hard to think as they continued northwards, climbing in elevation as they did so. The monotonous redwood scenery wasn't particularly helping, and so he was trying to distract himself by watching the growing storm that had been gathering for the past hour, winding aggressively around the mountains. It wasn't much of a distraction, though, not really, only serving to build his anxiety. The harsh reality felt so blindingly obvious that he couldn't really hope to hide from it anyway.

Skinnard was missing and the outlook didn't look good. Men had a threatened a kid – a _kid_ – to get to him. Bryce and Graham and _so_ many others were already dead. And then there was Sarah. She'd already been tortured because of him – he didn't care what she said, he would always feel responsible for that – and they'd both been shot at this morning.

Because of him.

He knew what he had to say; the phone call had only served as a reminder. Even if Chloe had sent help, they still couldn't compete with the combined forces of the Ring and CIA. He knew Sarah would object, and truth be told, he was reluctant to say it. She wasn't going to take it well, if any or her previous words or actions could foretell her reaction. But he needed to do this. He'd been putting off this conversation for way too long.

He wasn't going to let Sarah die because of him.

"Do you, um, want to listen to some music?" Sarah asked nervously, breaking the silence, starting to fiddle with the radio. She'd been acting flustered ever since that… moment.

"Sarah…" he started to say.

"I'm not really sure what's good, though, so you may have to help a little –"

"Sarah," he said again, louder this time.

She stopped messing with the radio. "Yeah?"

Chuck gulped. There was no going back from this.

"You need to leave me."

No sooner had he uttered the words than the brakes slammed on so hard that Chuck thought the seatbelt was going to rip straight through his shoulder – and it nearly did. The shrieking sound of the breaks ripped through his ears.

"I need to what?" Sarah repeated once the truck drawn to a complete stop, her jaw dropping in disbelief.

"You need to leave me," he repeated.

He watched as her jaw quivered a little, and she looked back and forth, the shock of what he'd said evident on her face when she looked back at him. "I – I…what?"

"I can't do this anymore, Sarah," he said, and looking at her was suddenly the most difficult thing in the world. The cabin seemed impossibly tight. "We – _you _nearly died this morning. It's me they're after…and I can't continue to put you in danger like this. I think it would be best if you just left me."

Sarah said nothing; she just continued to look at him, not even responding when the loud thunderclap tore through the sky, making way for waves of rain to start meandering downwards in the air – which even caused _him_ to jump a bit in his seat. Sarah just stared passively through it all.

"I can't believe you," she said calmly.

Okay, _that _hadn't been the response he had been expecting.

"Sarah—"

Then, she just erupted, shoving him back against the passenger door, moving faster than he ever thought possible – even for her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she spat, her face contorting with anger before opening the driver's door and storming out into the rain.

Chuck blinked.

_What just happened?_

"Sarah, wait!" he said, before opening his own door and taking off after her.

For a Southern California native, the cold, heavy rain beating down on him was not something he was used to or at all comfortable with. That didn't stop Sarah though; she was powering through the rain, away from the truck and into the forest.

"Hey, Sarah, c'mon," he said, jogging after her. "Let's talk about this!"

He nearly slammed into her as she spun around on her heels, her shoes making little grooves in the mud.

"Oh, so you've decided you want to _talk_ now?" she said through wet, tussled hair that was sticking to her face. "I thought this was what you _wanted_ me to do."

"Sarah…" he said again, taking a step towards her, but she just pushed him back.

"What makes you think you have any kind of right to say things like that?" she asked, and Chuck noticed the moisture pooling around her eyes. That wasn't the rain. "It was _both_ of us that they were shooting at this morning, Chuck. _Both_ of us. I've been in this from the beginning, long before you ever you found me. Do you really think I'm just gonna let them throw you to the wolves after everything they've done?"

Chuck tried to move, to do _anything_, to say anything, but he couldn't.

She wasn't going to leave him.

Another loud bolt of thunder clapped through the sky. They both jumped this time.

"I've already lost one partner to these people, Chuck," she continued, jabbing a finger in his direction, "and if you think for _one second _that I'm gonna lose another one by letting you pull this self-sacrificing bull shit…then…then…" She paused to take breath, her voice softening ever so slightly. "Then you're wrong."

She took another deep breath. Her shirt was clinging to her as her chest moved up and down, and it was distracting enough that all he could do all but watch.

"Sarah," he said, wiping some moisture off his face.

"What?" she snapped, the anger quickly replenishing itself, and the scowl was back as if it had never been gone.

He didn't reply. Whatever he was going to say before, he'd forgotten and it was probably irrelevant anyway. He didn't _want_ to argue with her; he didn't _want_ to see her like this. If he'd been confused before, then now he was beyond lost – but still, _something_ felt like it had just clicked.

It was her.

It was just her.

"I'm sorry," he said plainly. Then he moved.

In two short steps, he closed the distance between them and before she could hit him again, he pressed his lips to hers, which were all too soft and way too enticing. Wrapping his arms around her back, he pulled her into him, tilting his head down to get a better angle.

She didn't respond at first, clearly too shocked to do anything, and he almost tried to pull back, but then her hands were up in his hair, entangling themselves through his curls. He felt her mouth part, and her tongue started massaging his lower lip as he deepened the kiss. She mewed hungrily as he started to caress her neck with his hands, still holding her against him.

Her face felt cold against the rain – against his – but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything right now, and when both of them did finally pull apart for air, they had forgotten it was raining at all.

# # #

**A/N:** _So, the show may be over now, but I'm still interested in continuing the story, and hopefully you guys will keep reading it. I can't promise an increase in the frequency of updates as my life is incredibly hectic – seriously, guys, America is so much work! How's a Brit supposed to write?_


	16. The Next Step Forward

**A/N: **_Thanks to the wonderful __**NMH**__ for editing this chapter in record time! Thanks also to __**DanaPAH **__for all her help over the past couple of years. I couldn't have done it without her. _

_Final thanks are to __**Crumby**__, for being a pest._

Chapter 16

The Next Step Forward

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Baskersville, California**

**10:23 PST**

"He did _what_?"

"Jumped onto the vehicle, sir," the local deputy repeated, looking more than a little awkward. "Well, he leapt onto the open window as the car sped away, to be exact."

Casey raised his second eyebrow at the man. "And then what happened?"

"The woman who was driving – the blonde – managed to push him off. I think the passenger might have helped, too."

Casey nodded. "Is there anything else you can remember?" he asked.

The deputy hesitated. "He was angry, sir."

"Angry?"

"Agent Shaw," he said, fiddling with the rim of his hat. "He was angry – not just angry, though. He looked really, really pissed, like he wasn't thinking straight."

Casey dug his hands into his pockets, managing to keep his composure and resisting the urge to frown. Shaw had already disregarded procedure on how to apprehend supposedly rogue agents once today by setting a trap in a public place, loaded full of civilians, and now he had done it again, by chasing after Walker and Bartowski on his own.

"Thanks for your time, Deputy," Casey said, nodding to the younger man, dismissing him.

The deputy tipped his hat before returning back to the small crowd of local officers, whom were all scowling disapprovingly. Casey didn't blame them, really. Shaw and his team – minus two injured agents – had already left in pursuit of Walker and Bartowski, leaving them without any explanation as to why half their town was now taped off as an FBI crime scene.

"CIA," he murmured under his breath. This was getting ridiculous. The operation had been flawed from the start – not to mention that Shaw had insisted he remain on the sidelines during the failed apprehension.

Casey hated the sidelines.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dialled Beckman.

"Good afternoon, Major," she answered curtly.

"General."

"I've just been briefed on the situation in California by CIA liaisons," she sighed, taking a pause. "But I'd like your assessment."

Casey unclenched his jaw. He hadn't wanted to be the one to inform Beckman that Walker and Bartowski had escaped, while he'd been on the sidelines, no less.

"Shaw screwed up," he said bluntly. "The mission was careless, reckless even, and it could have been easily compromised. We're lucky that it wasn't."

"Are you sure your personal feelings towards Agent Shaw aren't clouding your judgement?" Beckman asked.

Surprisingly, Casey found himself nearly smiling. "I trust you think I'd use more discretion than that."

"I don't trust anyone, Major."

"Shaw screwed up, General," he said again, more seriously.

Beckman clicked her teeth in disapproval. "My thoughts exactly," she said before pausing. "I understand two agents were injured?"

"Not seriously," Casey said, glancing at the spot where an ambulance had been less than an hour previously. "They each took a round to the shin. Walker shot them while trying to escape."

"And does Shaw have any leads on her or Bartowski?"

"I overheard a radio transmission about twenty minutes ago," Casey said. "He doesn't appear to have anything new on them. Many of the roads around here are old mining roads and aren't on modern maps. They could be anywhere by now."

"Actually, that may not be entirely correct."

"Oh?" Casey asked, curious.

"My confidence in Shaw and the CIA in this matter is severely lacking, Major," Beckman said, sounding stern. "That's why I've yet to inform them about the NSA satellite that happened to be passing over the region at the time of Walker and Bartowski's escape."

Casey chuckled. "The CIA aren't going to happy about that."

"The CIA had their shot. It's time the NSA took a more assertive role into this affair."

"I agree, General."

"Unfortunately, the satellite only got a few minutes of relevant coverage and we weren't able to redirect it in time," Beckman continued. "The most it got was that they were heading north on Highway 49."

"North?" Casey repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Shaw's directed most of his resources to the _south_."

"Then good hunting, Major," Beckman said, ending the call.

Casey dropped the phone back in his pocket, nodded once more at the group of local cops, and began the walk back to his rental on the other side of town.

It was showtime.

# # #

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Off Highway 49, California**

**16:32 PST**

Their foreheads were still pressed together, noses gently grazing, when he spoke.

"Sarah?"

She didn't respond, keeping her eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of his breath tickling her cheek. The reality of the last few moments hadn't quite sunk in – that he'd kissed her, after what had transpired in the motel. Only hours ago, she'd been questioning her feelings, her motivations…_this_. Now she knew. She wanted this.

"Do you think, um," Chuck started to say, stuttering in the cold, "it would be okay… if we got back in the truck now?"

Sarah opened her eyes. Chuck's bottom lip was quivering, and she realised that she, too, was freezing. Even with Chuck's arm wrapped around her.

Freeing her arms, she reached up to cup his face, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips. A slight thrill ran through her as she did.

"Let's go," she said softly, still breathing heavily from the kiss.

The walk back to the truck was longer than she remembered – or maybe that was just the physical world being too slow for her brain, which was racing along at a million thoughts per second. Chuck's warm palm felt damp in hers as he led them through the rain.

When they finally settled back in the truck, both still soaking wet, Chuck looked over at her, biting his lower lip.

"I'm not leaving," she said quietly.

"I know."

"We're in this together."

Chuck nodded once, looking out the widescreen at the rain, which was still pouring down, before turning back to her. "There's a second data storage facility, like the one in L.A., and I'm pretty sure this one contains the Ring's Wet List."

Sarah raised an eyebrow at the term. "Wet List?"

"It's what Bryce and Graham were after to begin with," Chuck said, licking his lips, which Sarah found enticing. "A complete list of all the agents the Ring has inside the CIA and other agencies."

"A complete list?" she repeated. "Isn't that a little risky – keeping a complete list all in one place?"

"It's an insurance policy of sorts, should any of the agents try and turn on the Ring," he said with a shrug. "They only have two of these facilities in the U.S., and the Wet List wasn't in L.A."

Sarah bit her tongue. "You _were_ at the facility in L.A. then!" she said, giving him a gentle shove. "I knew it."

"Yeah," Chuck said with a small smile. "I was able to download over eighty percent of the data there without tripping the alarms."

"What sort of data did you get?" she asked, curious, brushing her hand over his.

"Ring intelligence: mission briefs, dead drop locations, procedural stuff mostly. Information that could be used to shut down a large part of their operations." Chuck's smile slowly fell. "Though without being used in conjunction with the information from the Oregon facility, it's largely useless. The government getting hold of the Wet List would finish them."

A feral grin started to spread across her face. If the two of them could take down the Ring, Bryce's death wouldn't have been in vain – not to mention the countless lives that would be saved in the process. Only something didn't entirely add up. "Chuck, where is the data now? What you downloaded."

Again, he looked nervous – which only made her want to lean over and kiss him – before he pointed upwards to his temple.

Sarah's jaw dropped. "It's…in you?"

"The amount of data…" Chuck said, swallowing. "It was in tens of petabytes, way too much to send or download onto a device. The human brain can store an incredible amount of information. At least that's what they told me."

"I thought you said there was only one Intersect device?" she asked. "The one in D.C., that it was destroyed after you made the upload."

"Not exactly," Chuck said, reaching for the inside pocket of his jacket. He'd taken the worn jacket back after she'd acquired a new one – it fit him better than it did her. He showed her a pair of tinted sunglasses with a long wire hanging from one side. "Bryce gave these to me. They can be used to upload data from a computer port directly into the Intersect."

"You're going to upload the Wet List?"

He nodded. "It's the only way."

"Does…it hurt?" she asked quietly, looking at the glasses. "When you upload, does it hurt?"

"Headaches," he murmured. "Sometimes they can be bad."

Sarah reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead. "We can find another way."

He caught her hand, gently squeezing it. "It's the only way," he repeated.

She bit her cheek, uncomfortable at the prospect of Chuck causing himself pain. But it was his choice. She would have probably done the same had the situations been reversed.

"Okay," she said eventually. "But we'll need to plan this. Security's going to be extra tight now that their L.A. facility has been compromised."

"You're right," Chuck agreed, putting the glasses away. "I managed to flash on the specs back in L.A. and it's a relatively small facility, only lightly guarded…but that's probably changed now. The Director won't be taking any chances with both of us on the loose."

"With the entire CIA on our back, though, I doubt he'll be expecting us to go after it." Sarah grinned at him. "I'm sure we can come up with something."

Chuck laughed, the tension easing from his face. "I'd better put my thinking cap on then," he said, starting the engine to the truck.

"I didn't realise you ever took it off," she asked him innocently.

"Sometimes," Chuck said, glancing at her quickly as he pulled the truck onto the road. "When I'm distracted it can be hard to think at all."

Within a few minutes, they'd both fallen in silence, with Chuck concentrating on driving along the desolate road. Sarah let her head rest against the seat as her mind started to ponder the mission ahead.

Whatever plan they came up with, it wasn't going to be easy.

# # #

**19****th**** October, 2007**

**Near California/Oregon Border**

**23:03 PST**

It was several hours later, the sun had long since set and the rain had become unbearable when Sarah had finally managed to convince him to stop. They were still a hundred and fifty miles from the Oregon border and Chuck had reluctantly pulled the truck off the road, taking it a hundred feet from the roadside, well under the cover of the forest's foliage.

Sarah had already switched with him once for the middle part of the journey. She had refused to do so again, though. There was no way either of them could drive in this rain. The wind had made the rain almost horizontal and in the darkness of the forest, driving conditions were just too treacherous to continue.

Chuck did have to concede, he was tired.

They could both use a few hours rest, even if it was just in the seats of the truck.

Chuck unbuckled his seat belt and stretched out against the seat. Sarah did the same next to him, drawing up her legs and leaning against him.

"Cold," she said quietly.

"A little," he said, lifting up his arm and letting her press up into him, her pleasant warmth sending him closer and closer to sleep.

Trying not to shift too much, he leant down gently kissing the top of her head, taking a moment to inhale her smell. "Good night, Sarah," he whispered, but she was already asleep.

He forced himself to stay awake for a few minutes longer, to just enjoy holding her.

Tomorrow there was the mission to think about and all the hazards and dangers that came with it.

Tonight there was just this.

# # #

Chuck wasn't sure what woke him.

Sarah was still asleep at his side, unmoving. The forest outside was quiet, still immersed in the awkward hours of pre-dawn, sun not yet shining. The rain, however, had at least stopped, and droplets were making a regular pit-pat sound as they fell from the trees. He listened to it for a few minutes more, Sarah's heat still a weight against his side.

His eyes were just starting to droop again when he heard a branch break…then another.

Chuck quickly sat up in his seat, causing Sarah to stir.

"What?" he heard her say sleepily as he frantically started to look around.

Then, everything exploded into action.

Figures were suddenly dashing out from behind trees – cops with weapons drawn – enclosing the truck from every angle, all screaming at them to put their hands in the air.

One voice, though, stood out against the others, and Chuck struggled to identify its owner.

"Sorry to interrupt your naps," a big man said from directly outside the window, his gun levelled straight at Chuck, "but you're both now in the custody of the NSA."

# # #

**A/N: **_I'm not promising anything, but the next chapter should be relatively soon. I'm hoping to have the whole story done by Christmas._


	17. Caught

**A/N:** _Hey, everyone. The usual thanks go out to __**Crumby **__for talking this through with me and to __**Lindsay**__ for pre-reading. __**Nysa**__, again, beta'd this chapter and had to suffer through removing several Britishisms – so extra thanks to her._

_Finally, thank you to everyone who's still reading this story and to everyone who's left a review._

**Chapter 17**

**Caught**

**20****th**** October 2007**

**Unknown Ring Facility**

**07:47 PST**

The Director leaned back in his chair.

He was really getting fed up of this office.

It backed onto a small bedroom, which had been serving as his private quarters over the past several days. The walls were now dark as he had killed the faux L.A. skyline appearance out of sheer irritation, constantly reminding him that he was trapped in this all too small security bunker – at least until his advisors said otherwise.

He'd been awake for a couple of hours now, again supervising the damage control from the Carmichael issue, which was mostly under control.

Fortunately, as it seemed, the only loose end now appeared to be any information Carmichael might have gathered from the data storage facility in Los Angeles – nothing else appeared to have been compromised. The intelligence from the facility in L.A., though, could seriously damage their operations if it ended up in the wrong hands, setting their advancement back by decades.

He hadn't yet heard anything from Shaw or any of his other CIA contacts regarding said intelligence. The ambiguity, in that sense at least, was promising. The CIA man who had recalled Walker, Assistant Director Skinnard, had been dealt with and wouldn't be causing them any more problems. Walker's other contact, the former analyst, wouldn't be involving herself either – not since the Ring had threatened her child. There was the possibility that Walker and Carmichael would try and go through someone else at the CIA, however remote that chance may be.

Nothing was ever a certainty in this business.

The mobile – his personal mobile – that had been sitting idly all morning started to vibrate.

The Director looked down at the number. It was Shaw. His already disingenuous relationship with the man had come under strain yesterday, after his incompetence had let Carmichael and Walker escape.

He paused and took a deep breath before answering the phone.

"Hello, Daniel."

"Director," Shaw greeted tonelessly.

"I trust all is well?" the Director asked, straining to contain the sarcasm in his voice.

"Sir," the CIA Agent continued, ignoring the question, "I've just been informed by the CIA that the NSA has Walker and Bartowski in custody."

"Oh?" the Director said, raising his eyebrows. "And how might that have happened, Daniel?"

"One of their agents split off from the task force. He had access to satellite data that he didn't share with us."

"Now that's most disappointing," the Director observed. "Where are Carmichael and Walker now?"

Shaw paused for a moment. "They're being held at a sheriff's station outside of Termo, Lassen County."

The Director sat up, elation running through his veins. "You mean they haven't officially been transferred into NSA custody yet?"

"That's correct," Shaw replied. "The transfer's not due for a couple of hours yet. I'm heading north now. I should be there within the hour."

The Director was silent for a moment, considering his options. The Ring's grip over the NSA was severely limited. If any information Carmichael had fell into their hands, it would be much harder to contain than in the CIA. They had to act fast.

"Daniel," he said, licking his lips, "I want you to separate from the rest of your task force. There's a Ring operations team that should be able to be in Lassen Country within ninety minutes. Rendezvous with them instead."

"To what end, Director?"

"The apprehension of Carmichael is critical. I need you to see to it."

Shaw was silent, still waiting for further instruction.

"I also need you to make sure that any intelligence he might have passed to the NSA Agent isn't passed on – that includes the locals, too."

"I understand," Shaw said after the briefest of hesitations. "And Walker?"

"Well," the Director said calmly, "the last I checked, your wife was still dead and Agent Walker was still responsible."

Shaw made a sound that was more like a dog growling than anything a man might say. The Director smiled.

"Your orders are still the same as before. Do what you want with her. Just make sure she ends up dead."

# # #

**20****th**** October 2007**

**Sheriff's Station, Lesson County**

**08:31 PST**

"You didn't have to hit him, you know."

"I thought he was hurting you!"

"Chuck," Sarah sighed, leaning in closer to him on the prison cell bench they shared and reaching up to cup his face, "he was arresting us. That's sort of how it works."

Chuck bit his cheek, resisting the urge to hiss – her cuffed hand was just shy of where the NSA Agent had hit him back, considerably harder. Sarah must have noticed his contorted expression, for she quickly withdrew her hand.

"Sorry," she apologised, guilt flashing across her face.

"It's okay," Chuck said, fleetingly trying to reassure her by smiling.

Sarah didn't look convinced, and he didn't really blame her; it wasn't okay. They were both being detained at a local sheriff's station, having been transported there in separate vehicles before being placed in the same cell. Chuck's watch had been taken from him on arrival, so he couldn't be sure how long ago that was, but it had to have been over an hour ago. Was that enough time for the Ring to find them? He wasn't sure. It was only fortunate that it had been the _NSA_ that had found them – well, not entirely for his face, Chuck reasoned. If the CIA had been the ones to arrest them, he was certain that they'd be in Ring custody by now…or worse.

The NSA Agent, who Sarah had introduced as John Casey, had yet to ask of them any questions. That though, he thought, would only be a matter of time. Neither of them had discussed what they would say if asked any questions.

"What do you know about this Casey?" he asked.

Sarah's face wrinkled. "He's a burnout. The NSA's lapdog when they want something done. A cold-blooded killer." She paused, considering. "He is loyal, though. I couldn't see him working for the Ring."

"Does that mean we can trust him, then?"

"Not a chance in hell," she said, shaking her head. She shuffled closer to him, lowering her voice. "Chuck, we can't tell him anything. Without any evidence, there's no way he's going to believe us, and we can hardly show him what's in your head."

Chuck slowly nodded. "Okay."

"Promise me, Chuck," she said, looking concerned. "No matter what he says."

"I promise," he said quickly.

She smiled, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

A light being turned in the corridor outside the cell caused them both to jump up from the bench and Sarah's hand was suddenly in his – somewhat difficult with the handcuffs.

"Ready?" he asked her, tightening his grip on her hand as several sets of footsteps started making their way closer to the cell.

Sarah chuckled nervously from beside him. "Shit, yeah."

John Casey came to a stop in front of the small cell flanked by two burly-looking deputies. His arms were folded and he was still dressed entirely in black. There was an ugly looking bruise swelling up on his right jaw.

He glowered at Chuck.

The butt of his _Sig_ was sticking out very prominently from his belt and something told Chuck that the larger agent would no problem with using it if either of them tried anything. He hoped Sarah realised that, too.

"Let's go," he said finally, growling at the two deputies, who quickly unlocked the door and entered the cell.

Sarah was pushed aside, their hands losing contact as each deputy took a hold of one of Chuck's arms and began to half carry him out of the cell.

"Chuck…"

He turned his head towards Sarah, who looked impossibly vulnerable and yet determined at the same time. "It's okay," he said quickly. "I know."

The sound of the cell door slamming behind him reverberated through his ears as he was frogmarched up the corridor, the calm, controlled footsteps of the NSA Agent slowly following.

# # #

"You have to listen to—"

The force of the NSA Agent's fist smashing into his face cut Chuck off, causing his head to bend back uncomfortably against the chair. White spots flashed across his eyes and time momentarily stopped. Then the pain came and he collapsed forward against the table, to which he was chained.

Chuck spat blood on the floor.

"Let's be clear about one thing," Casey growled, rubbing his enclosed fist, "I don't _have_ to do anything."

Chuck steadied himself, trying not to strain against his restraints, staying silent. His jaw throbbed.

"I do have to say, though," he continued, shaking his head slightly, seemingly almost smiling, "I am a little surprised."

"Surprised at what?" Chuck asked – probably too quickly as Casey looked like he was going to hit him again, causing Chuck to flinch, before reconsidering it.

"You don't look like the kind of agent who'd have a hand in assassinating a CIA director."

"What?" Chuck exclaimed. Assassinate a CIA director? He…

Casey shrugged. "I guessing it was Larkin's op. He probably did most of the planning, right? The Ring just ordered you to clean up, dispose of the evidence, plant a little car bomb… Was Walker involved, too? I'm assuming that's why Shaw wants her dead, or least considers her collateral."

Chuck leapt up before Casey had finished, only to be held back by his tether to the table. "Bryce never killed—"

The rest of his words wheezed out of him as a laborious cough as Casey hit him again, this time in the stomach, causing him to collapse back into the chair. "Sit. Down," Casey ordered him.

Leaving his eyes closed, Chuck resisted the urge to heave out the contents of his stomach and groaned in pain. He needed to be in control of his emotions. He'd promised Sarah he wouldn't say anything.

"I see I touched a nerve," Casey said, sounding annoyingly satisfied.

The last part of what Casey said suddenly registered. "Wait," Chuck coughed, trying to ignore Casey's apparent smugness. "Shaw wants Sarah dead?"

He no longer had the _Sig_ tucked into the front of his pants, Chuck noticed as he opened his eyes. Evidently that had been for effect – it had worked. The chair scrapped against the floor as Casey sat down. "Talk," he said.

Chuck was suddenly a thousand times angrier than he had been a moment ago. He knew exactly what Casey was doing, dangling the threat of Shaw in front of him. He was going to have to take a chance with the man – it wasn't like he had any choice – and break his promise to Sarah to stay silent. He'd sworn to himself that he would do all in his power to protect her and that came before everything.

"Larkin wasn't Ring," Chuck rasped, still desperately trying not to throw up. "Neither is Sarah. Neither am I."

Casey looked unconvinced, waiting for him to elaborate further. When only silence ensued, he reached into his jacket pocket and threw something on the table.

"Explain this, then."

It was the Ring phone Chuck had taken off the guard in the desert when he'd broken Sarah out. Casey clearly knew what it was, too. He was going to have to tell him. Chuck's eyes darted upwards towards the surveillance camera in the corner of the room, double checking it was still turned off like Casey had ordered when the two deputies had left them alone in the room.

He turned back to his NSA interrogator, catching him directly in the eye and swallowed. "For the past six months and up until five days ago, I've been working undercover as part of the Ring. My mission was to gain intelligence on the extent of the Ring infiltration into the CIA. Only two people at the CIA knew about this. They're both now dead. Bryce Larkin, my handler, died trying to stop that bomb exploding, and Director Graham…The Ring, they must have gotten to him somehow. It wasn't Bryce that killed him, I promise you that much."

Casey had sat steadily listening to Chuck, not reacting. When Chuck was done, he opened his mouth.

"Bullshit."

"It's the truth," Chuck said quickly, half expecting Casey to get up and start hitting him again.

"What happened five days ago?" Casey asked instead, remaining seated. "Why did you break your supposed cover with the Ring? Did you complete your mission?"

He looked away guiltily, remembering the events of what happened in the desert, what the Ring had done to Sarah. "No," he mumbled.

"Well?" Casey prompted. "What happened, then?"

"I broke cover to free Sarah from Ring captivity," he said finally. "They were interrogating her."

"Walker was in Ring captivity?" Again, Casey still didn't look entirely convinced. "Was she part of your _undercover_ operation, too?"

Chuck shook his head. "She was investigating Graham's death, looking for Bryce…and me."

"And the Ring captured her?"

He nodded.

"I'm guessing Walker will back all this up," Casey said, standing up once more. Chuck flinched. "Thing is, she can only say what she knows and you just told me the only people who can corroborate your story are dead. That's mighty convenient."

Sweat started to run down Chuck's palms. Casey didn't believe him.

"How is Shaw connected to all this?" he asked suddenly, starting to pace around the table.

"Shaw?" Chuck repeated, frowning. The question had thrown him off. "Shaw's a Ring expert…I hadn't even heard of him until yesterday. I assumed he was working with you."

Casey didn't reply; he appeared to be considering it. Judging from the slight disdain with which he had said Shaw's name, Casey didn't seem to have a particular fondness of the man.

"Wait here," he said finally, moving over to the door – Chuck flinched once more as he passed him – and exiting through it, leaving him alone in the room.

Chuck was fully aware he'd left out details regarding the Intersect, namely the part about it being in his brain. He was taking a chance with Casey, mainly because he didn't have any other choice, but telling him about the Intersect wasn't something he was prepared for yet. Crucially, by some godforsaken miracle, the Ring still didn't know about the Intersect – they probably wouldn't be too happy when they find out it had been under their noses for several months.

Unfortunately, Casey had taken the Intersect upload from him when they'd been arrested. Most likely, however, he wouldn't associate them with the Intersect project. They had been a custom creation within the CIA and, as far as he knew, were the only pair. Still, if the NSA Agent found out Chuck had been keeping something like the Intersect secret he would probably get hit some more. There wasn't much he could do to prevent that. It wasn't like he was going anywhere.

Chuck leaned back in the chair, his mind drifting to Sarah. Most of the Casey's aggression seemed to be focused on him and, thankfully, not her.

If the NSA Agent touched her, he didn't know what he would do. He only knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

# # #

The local deputies were all busy trying to look uninterested as Casey stepped out of the interrogation room. Several, though, were having difficulty concealing their frowns – no doubt disapproving at his order to turn off the camera in the room. Casey rolled his eyes, and stepped. The locals could take it up with him later. Turning to walk towards the least occupied part of the station, he considered what he'd just heard. He wasn't sure what to make of Bartowski's story himself. Still, Bartowski had told him more in several minutes than the whole CIA had in a week.

Casey pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had to speak to Beckman now.

Given the hour, he hadn't spoken to her directly to inform her of Bartowski and Walker's apprehension. He'd gone through her assistant. Now, however, she was wide awake.

"Good morning, Major."

"And to you, General," he returned.

"I believe congratulations are in order," Beckman said, her usual stern tone absent, "on a job well done. You managed to arrest two renegade agents without nearly triggering a mass civilian panic."

Casey couldn't help but allow himself a small smile. "Thank you, General, but the work's not over yet."

"Indeed, it never is."

He pushed the phone closer to his ear, double-checking he was out of earshot of any eavesdropping deputies. "How far off is the NSA transport to take them back to D.C.?" he asked.

"It should be with you within the hour," Beckman replied. "I trust you can keep the prisoners secure until then?"

"Of course," Casey said slowly. "It's just some of the things they've been saying…they could have major implications."

"You've had the chance to question them, then?" Beckman said after a brief hesitation.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And what have you learned?"

Casey took a deep breath. "Bartowski claims," he said, making sure to add a healthy degree of scepticism to his voice, "that he's spent the last six months undercover with the Ring as part of a secret CIA operation."

"Hmm," Beckman said. "Has he offered you any proof of this?"

"No, General, he hasn't….at least not yet."

"What else?"

"He also says that the CIA has been severely compromised by the Ring, that they were responsible for Graham's death, not Larkin."

"Again, has he offered you any proof of this?"

"No," Casey conceded.

Beckman clucked in disapproval. "What's your take on this, Major?"

"Given the implications," he said cautiously. "I think it's imperative we get both Bartowski and Walker back to D.C. as soon as possible. We should probably also limit the CIA's involvement in this."

"I agree," Beckman said. "Unfortunately, news of their arrest has already started to spread down the interagency channels. Shaw's task force will know by now."

Casey grunted.

"I know, Major," Beckman agreed. "I'll let the CIA know that Bartowski and Walker are in NSA custody and they would be unwise to challenge us on this."

"I'll continue to question the prisoners, see if they have some evidence to back up their story."

"Keep me informed on that," she said, closing the conversation. "Check in when the transport arrives."

Casey clicked off the phone and frowned. He had sounded like he believed Bartowski's story. Truth be told, he didn't know what to make of it. As incompetent as he knew the CIA to be – Shaw being the prime example of that – the idea that they had been completely compromised by the Ring sounded a little far-fetched.

He glanced down at his watch. The NSA transport wouldn't be long. He would get a cup of coffee – he was only human after all – and then finish questioning Bartowski. If he had time, he would speak to Walker, too.

"Everything all right, Major?" a deputy asked as he entered the rec room of the sheriff's station.

"It would be better if I could get a cup of that coffee you have over there," he replied, gesturing to the half-full pot the deputy was next to.

The deputy nodded. "It is a little early," he conceded. "How do you take it?"

"Black and bitter," Casey answered, nodding a thanks as he took the cup.

The deputy tucked his thumbs into his belt. "So, it's not every day we get an NSA Agent around here."

Casey was about to answer when his phone beeped: an email. "Excuse me," he said to the deputy, stepping out again in the hallway to get some privacy.

The email was from an unknown sender, giving him pause. There were few people who knew this email address – and virtually no-one outside the NSA. Curious, though, he opened the first file in the email. It was a video file. Casey made sure to adjust the sound on his phone so that only he could hear before pressing play.

The video was from a surveillance camera, somewhere in Europe judging from the old cobbled streets. Berlin, maybe? Or Paris? Casey didn't care particularly for such dated cities. After a few seconds, two women came into shot, walking towards each other. One, a brunette, he didn't recognise. The second was in a long, red coat and was a blonde. He couldn't be sure, as the picture quality wasn't great, but she looked like Walker. She appeared to be on edge. The brunette then dropped something, a bracelet? Walker passed by her and…nothing. Then the brunette reached into her bag and Walker, acting on instinct, spun on her heel, a gun in her hand. She shot the brunette once in the chest – causing Casey to blink in surprise. The brunette fell back and Walker looked thoroughly stunned. That wasn't the face of a professional Agency killer. The brunette didn't move and Walker started to flee. A couple of seconds later the video ended.

Who the hell had sent him this?

There were two remaining files in the email. They were both text files. The first one was a personnel file for a CIA Agent. He looked at the picture: a brunette in her twenties. She was the same person as in the video, the same person who Walker had shot and presumably killed. When Casey saw the name above the picture, he nearly dropped his phone: Evelyn Shaw. There was no way. He scrolled down through the file until he saw what he was looking for: Spouse: Special Agent Daniel Shaw.

What the fuck?

Walker had killed Shaw's wife! Did this mean that Bartowski had in fact been bullshitting after all? Could Walker and Bartowski _really_ be with the Ring?

It took Casey several seconds to remember the final file in the email; the second text file. He opened it not knowing what to expect. It was a CIA mission brief. Most of the file had been redacted and there was more black than white visible on the page, but Casey could see what he needed to. Evelyn Shaw's picture was there at the top right of the page. Her name had been blacked out this time. Next to the picture, two sentences stood out: "From the Office of the Director" and "Red Operation".

Casey closed the email and leaned back against the wall.

Every agent knew what a Red Operation meant.

The CIA had sanctioned the assassination of Evelyn Shaw and Walker had carried it out. If Daniel Shaw knew… No wonder why he appeared to want Walker dead – she had killed his wife, even if it was under orders. The bigger question remained, why the hell would CIA want Evelyn Shaw dead?

This complicated things greatly.

The now lukewarm coffee in Casey's other hand no longer seemed as appealing.

# # #

Chuck all but collapsed when the deputies brought him back to the cell, and he would have had Sarah not been there to catch him.

"I feel terrible," he muttered. He hadn't realised how truly winded Casey's punch had left him until the two deputies had uncuffed him from the table and stood him up. When the NSA Agent had reappeared in the room, he'd ordered Chuck be moved back to the cell without asking any more questions.

Somehow, despite both of them being cuffed, Sarah managed to ease him onto the bench, letting him lie down. She crouched next to him.

"What happened?" she asked, lightly stroking his hair.

"Sarah, I'm sorry," he murmured. "I had to tell him, I had to. I told him that I was undercover… I had to."

Sarah's expression was pained. "Chuck, you promised…"

"It wasn't 'cause of this," he said gesturing to the bruises on his face, suddenly feeling the need to reassure her. "He said Shaw… Shaw's put an order to kill you, wants you dead."

Her expression lightened. "And you believed him?"

Chuck closed his eyes. "I couldn't take the chance."

"Did he believe _you_ at least?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure. He was sceptical. I didn't tell him about the Intersect."

"That's something at least," she said, pushing herself onto the bench so that his head was in her lap. She continued to stroke his hair. "Shaw hasn't got any more reason than Casey to want me dead. We're both probably traitors in their eyes."

"I overheard the guards," he said. "They're going to take us back to D.C. The NSA is sending transports."

Sarah sighed, causing a loose strand of hair to fall, tickling his face. "Maybe we'll be able to show them the information in your head in D.C. If the Ring allows us to get that far, that is."

Chuck pushed himself up so that he could sit facing her. He winced slightly as he did so. "We should at least be able to convince them that you're not involved."

"I thought we were in this together," she said, frowning.

He smiled, leaning closer to her. "Maybe we could request a cosy two-bed, two-bath cell."

She laughed. "Two-bed?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Chuck felt his stomach flutter – and that wasn't due to Casey's punch.

Tentatively, he pressed his lips towards hers and their kiss met halfway.

Then everything went dark.

# # #

Casey dropped his now cold coffee when the lights went out. His hand was instantly on his Sig, now stuffed in the back of his jeans.

"What happened?" he asked the nearest local, who was only a dim shadow in the darkness as neither of them was near a window.

"Probably just the generator again," the deputy said, shrugging. "Power here runs on the generator a lot of the time. It's old, though. Budget cuts and all… I'll go check it now."

"I'll come with you," Casey said, still feeling on edge. He didn't exactly believe in co-incidence, especially not today. "Where we going?"

"Just out the back," the deputy explained.

Casey followed him as they moved through the small station towards the exit. Several of the officers already had flashlights out and were murmuring amongst themselves.

"Watch the prisoners," he ordered, pointing to two of them.

Another deputy had already beaten them outside and was crouched by the generator. The two of them came to a halt next to him. Casey raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the early morning sunlight.

"What's the problem?" he asked the man by the generator.

"Not sure," the deputy replied, looking up briefly to see who had asked the question. "I mean, the fuel's going through and all – wait a second."

"What?"

"The power lines! They've been cut!"

_Clip._

Casey drew his Sig at approximately the time that the deputy who'd been standing next to him dropped dead on the floor

"Get down!" he cried at the officer who was still alive, as he dived for cover behind the generator.

Then gunfire erupted everywhere and all hell exploded.

# # #


End file.
